Where Words Fail: Book 7: A Game of Pai Sho
by TEi Has Pants
Summary: The Freedom Fighters have been divided when the world needs them the most, but can Smellerbee and The Duke reunite everybody in time for Sozin's Comet?
1. Chapter 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 1: Use your drill to pierce the heavens!**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

"I learned something yesterday."

Skillet turned to look at Smellerbee. The swordswoman sat at the vacated Pai Sho table captured from a Fire Nation caravan, maps spread out across its round, polished surface. Smellerbee leaned over these with her elbows propped up on the table's surface, her hands folded over her forehead.

"What?" Skillet probed, her voice coming out thick and dry. Her eyes stung, but – but they were dry, too, and her chest felt hard and light. It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to cry, just that – well, she _couldn't_ anymore. Freedom Fighters had died in the past, due to illness or as victims of the war or the weather, and it was just part of the lifestyle they led – constantly outdoors, fighting a dominant country in a losing battle. But the frequency never made it any easier to cope with, and losing Mortar and Telltale…

They hadn't died because of the war, or the weather, or some kind of disease hiding in the very air they breathed. They'd died because of one insane man's ambition.

Which wasn't to say Smellerbee hadn't done a fantastic job rallying and leading the children. She _had_, and – and Skillet would be lying if she said she wasn't a little mad at her for it – and they had won with _only_ those two fatalities. Two lives in exchange for forty.

Two lives, young and fresh and extinguished far too early.

But would things have changed if Sneers had followed through with his plan, waiting for the right opportunity? Skillet wasn't a leader herself, she didn't have that kind of foresight, so she didn't know. If she were to hazard a guess, then probably not, because – because Overdweller hadn't been _feeding_ the children, they would have starved before Smellerbee could whisk them all away. And doing it unnoticed, when the Overdweller had realized Skillet had taken away Wind-Up and Bedrock so soon…?

Silence clung to the air like clothes to skin during a monsoon, wet and heavy and cold and awkward, but Skillet didn't push Smellerbee just yet. She probably hurt the most of all, because – because it had been _her_ directives that sent Telltale and Mortar to their deaths, and she knew it.

Skillet wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

When Smellerbee broke the muted atmosphere, her voice was subdued. "I learned that leading – _really_ leading – is like a game of Pai Sho. You have to make hard decisions, and sometimes you have to sacrifice tiles. But even if you lose one, you have to keep playing. You know?" She glanced up at Skillet, and the cook saw how, how _sad_ the swordswoman's eyes were, how her eyebrows had furrowed and pupils had gone wide. "Even though things look grim."

Skillet sighed and lowered her head. Yeah, that made sense, sorta. You – you had to overlook the fact that there had _been_ a loss, that there were greater things than just the Freedom Fighters to worry about, like the rest of the world.

"…that's a beautiful sentiment," Skillet murmured, folding her legs and perching on the bench opposite Smellerbee. "There's a lot different about you that I don't know about. You were always more…"

"Blunt?" Smellerbee chuckled. "Yeah. One of – one thing I've noticed since Jet died is that…there's a lot _more_ to the world than I noticed before. I kinda took everything for granted."

Skillet nodded, looking down at the charts and scrolls and maps Smellerbee had unfurled. Her strength, her perseverance, was admirable…because, even as she mourned, she continued to plan, to lead, to work for an unobtainable victory. The chef had no way of knowing if the Day of Black Sun invasion even succeeded, and it made her feel…proud, she guessed, that her teammate continued to plan in the event that the Avatar had ultimately met in failure. It was almost as if she didn't know he was alive at all –

…Wait.

The world at large assumed Aang had died in Ba Sing Se, and only a select few people knew otherwise. Smellerbee and Longshot, on the lam and out of contact with _any_ of those people, might not yet know that – that –

"Smellerbee…" Skillet took a deep breath, feeling her chest tighten and tingle. "Aang is alive."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Western Earth Kingdom_

_23 days until Sozin's Comet_

Lying on his back on a thin bedroll, the cover pulled up to his chest, The Duke stared upward at the unique, inverted buildings suspended overhead. The Western Air Temple - a haven to the Airbenders a century ago. Hidden by a tremendous, abyssal gorge, the buildings had been carved out of one side and hung from beneath the surface of the planet. The sky peeked out from between the two edges of the gorge, dark and glittering with stars. A warm summer's breeze caressed his cheeks, ruffled his hair, and the ground was cool against his shoulders. Sleep wouldn't come to him...it didn't matter that the invasion had ended in failure over a week ago. He could still see Pipsqueak in his mind's eye - that moment, that _one_ moment, with vivid clarity that he wished he could slough off. The shame - the sorrow. Pipsqueak had saved him, and Smellerbee too. One was dead and the other a prisoner of war.

_"Take care, The Duke."_

Pipsqueak had been - smiling, when he parted ways with his best friend. The Duke's stomach lurched every time he thought of it, because it was such a peaceful smile - his beady eyes reflecting back the steel-blue color of the Fire Nation's sky. He had been okay with the circumstances as they were. Maybe it was because Pipsqueak had entertained the possibility that the rebellion forces would lose on the Fire Nation's home turf during the Day of Black Sun more acutely than The Duke had. He couldn't tell for sure, because - because they didn't share the same nonverbal bond Smellerbee and Longshot had. Jet had said those two had the best synergy after all, and he was right.

(The fact that the Fire Nation had _blue_ skies still amazed him. After everything he and his friends had endured at the hands of the Fire Nation, he had never assumed the sky there could be such regular colors. He wasn't exactly sure what he had imagined, but he figured something more apocalyptic would have been far more fitting. Crimson skies, lit up with fire and slathered in huge, cottony black smoke...not something as _normal_ as blue.)

Their best shot at winning the war had been sunk, and now Pipsqueak and the rest of the adults were rotting away somewhere in a Fire Nation prison. That was it, wasn't it? There were no more Freedom Fighters out there except The Duke and Sneers, and Sneers wasn't going to be able to help them now.

The Duke was alone.

Despite the colossal failure - despite his best friend becoming a prisoner of war - brooding on it wouldn't do any good. Some of the others had managed to escape the Fire Nation as well. Aang, Katara, Sokka, Teo and Haru.

And Toph - the blind Earthbender girl, the one that had found Pipsqueak and The Duke with Sokka in Chameleon Bay over two months ago. The one whom The Duke gladly lent his helmet to when she was overcome with a bout of seasickness - sure, a little washing out needed to be done, but...but for some reason, it didn't really _bother_ The Duke that much. Toph's puke certainly held no sentimental value to him, but the kindness itself...

He didn't know. It was too confusing. He just liked her, and that was all he could readily admit to right now. There were too many other things he needed to think about at the moment. Like a contingency plan.

The solar eclipse had lasted for all of eight minutes and it was the only time in which Firebenders were vulnerable between here and the upcoming comet that - according to Sokka - would grant their enemies tenfold power. On top of that, Aang only had until that time to learn and master Firebending, and...and, it wasn't _enough_, it was bad news all the way around.

Still, a voice inside his head whispered - don't be overwhelmed by it. Don't, or else you'll fold and be useless and the world needs you now more than ever. Of course; he couldn't be harried by the current state of things. He had to stay calm and figure out the next steps, and he'd already gotten an inkling of what they were.

So long as the world was at war, it would need Freedom Fighters - and The Duke had seven able-bodied potential draftees at his disposal.

Teo and Haru would be the easiest to talk to about it - they knew about the Freedom Fighters exclusively from his and Pipsqueak's perspective, and The Duke genuinely enjoyed their company (despite the condescending attitude Haru slung around). He loved luging down the hidden access tunnels they had discovered while exploring, clinging close to the back of Teo's wheelchair as it bumped and rattled and soared across the floor, the wind howling in their faces. And as far as Haru went, neither Mortar nor Pestle had been very good at fighting, so getting the chance to toughen up against a combat-ready Earthbender was a rarity, indeed, and Haru fit that bill (even though he was a butt).

(The Duke had had a lot of time to process the fact that Jet had been killed by an Earthbender to realize that nothing was impossible. So, better to cover all of the bases.)

The others…it would be a tough call. They might want to do their own thing. Which was all well and good, but having a secondary rallying point never hurt.

All he could really do was wait for morning to come again before casting out his lines.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

"Five feet wide, ten feet tall, half a foot thick...allow three-quarters of an inch for the adjoining wall, and then an inch for the - the roof, and..."

Pestle grunted as she planted her feet apart and thrust her hands down, arms straight, palms flat; she brought both arms up in a swift motion, a block of stone erupting from the ground with a shower of pebbles, shaking the ground beneath her feet. It - it was...she narrowed her eyes. Trying to - to build a temporary supply closet for the school since she'd ruined the old one, broken through it with her Earthbending. Muttering to herself, she spun around and brought up another wall parallel to the first with identical dimensions...then, the back wall, and - and - Spirits _damn_ it all, she'd forgotten to put the roof on in the first place, this was stupid, it -

With a low growl, Pestle stomped the ground and splayed her arms out again, the three walls crumbling and sinking back into the forest's floor. She glanced over to the blueprints she and - she had made years ago when first building the school, weighted down at the corners with fist-sized rocks. The dimensions for the new closet - instead of making one from scratch, it was just easier to re-create the old one, only separate from the building. Really, working with stone was an improvised science in this context; if she had the time, the patience, she would go cut more wood, shape it into planks, but really the sooner she got the supply closet remade, the better. This was a placeholder, it didn't have to be _exact_. So why was she busting her butt over this?

The Earthbender walked over to the spot she planned on erecting the supply closet (in the clearing, just a few yards away from the schoolhouse); she knelt down and jabbed her index finger into the ground, carving a groove into the dirt. Five feet, turn, five feet, turn, five feet...there. That would do it. She pushed back up to her feet, the ground rough under her bare soles, and slid one leg out behind her in a wide arc; she thrust her arms up into the air again, and this time - _this_ time - the entire building sprouted up from the ground, spraying Pestle with dust and pebbles, the roof and walls perfect, an opening on one side for a door to be put in. This success bolstered her confidence; now she had the patience to take care of cutting the wood for the door. Making it would be another lengthy task, something to keep her nice and occupied.

Oh man, Mortar would be so proud of her -

...oh. Oh.

Pestle glared at the newly-made building with narrowed, stinging eyes; her vision blurred, and her stomach churned and did flip-flops, her throat sealed itself tight, and - and - she wanted to cry, she really wanted to, the tears were already falling but she wouldn't sob, she couldn't, she needed to be strong, Mortar would have helped her be strong but Mortar wasn't around anymore, gone, no, she was _gone_ -

Before Pestle realized, she'd whirled, turned away from the new closet, surging for the tree line behind the school, each impact jarring up her legs, brush and twigs and dirt scratching her bare feet, the wind cold and scathing against her face, blowing back her hair, ruffling her clothes and she needed to get away, people could find her in the clearing and she didn't want to be found, not if she was going to be weak, not if...

...she wasn't sure how long or how far she'd ran by the time her lungs began burning, her muscles howling; she came to a gradual stop - somewhere in the forest, she had no idea where, though she wasn't lost so much as she didn't _care_ to know. She could be alone here, she could -

"No," Pestle hissed, gulping, clenching her teeth, her voice wobbling. "Don't cry. Mortar never cuh-cried. You huh-have to be strong now."

"There's nothing bad t'be said about crying, you know."

The Earthbender spun around, raising up a fist at the, the intruder who had -

"Easy," Skins said, holding up his hands and hiking a brow. He sat perched up on a tree branch about ten feet above the ground with a spear in one hand, his straw, horned hat tilted back up onto his forehead. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I was hunting, is all."

"I - " Pestle felt heat rush up through her face, and she glanced away, folding her hands in front of her. "S-sorry. I'll...just go..."

So much for - for being alone, the forest was a big place but only _so_ big...

"Wait, hold up a sec." Before Pestle could move, Skins dropped down from the tree branch and landed in a crouch. "Before you take off..."

"Don't talk to me," Pestle whimpered, turning away and cringing. "I don't want - I don't want to hear it. Anything. Whatever you have to say, it's not important."

"I think it is," Skins replied. "My brothers and I were there when Mortar..."

"Shut _up_."

"This is something you need to hear." Skins stepped around Pestle, stopping in front of her, and - and the lanky, eldest Hunter Brother looked at her with a grim expression - she tried to turn away from him again, but Skins was persistent, cut in front of her again, and _damn_ him for not leaving her alone! "I know what it's like to lose somebody so important to you. We _all_ do. Every Freedom Fighter here has lost parents, siblings."

"This is different."

"It's really not." Skins sighed. "We can help you - any of us, all of us. You've been shutting everyone out, and trying to keep everything inside. It ain't healthy."

"Shut _up_!" Maybe if she said it enough, Skins would get the point - she didn't want to be consoled, didn't want his pity - just, just, "Just go away! Leave me alone!"

"Pestle, it's the responsibility of the older siblings to take care of the younger ones. Believe me, I know!" Skins planted his hands on Pestle's shoulders, glaring into her eyes. "But you did everything in your power to save your sister, so don't you dare go about thinking you let Mortar - "

"_LEAVE ME ALONE!_" Pestle shrieked, slamming a foot into the ground; a wall of rock erupted between her and Skins, and she heard him yelp, surprised by the - the attack? Had it been an attack? Maybe. Maybe not, she didn't know, it didn't matter, she was running again, gone, away from the obnoxious hunter, and this time she _did_ sob as she gasped for air, her body protesting, didn't want to keep running, but, but she had to move, had to get _away_ from the hurt, from the pain.

It was the Fire Nation's fault.

The Fire Nation had invaded the forest, her home. They'd chased Skillet, Wind-Up and Bedrock away. They'd chained up Sneers. They hadn't fed _any_ of the Freedom Fighters. They'd killed Telltale, and they'd killed -

She tripped - toes had caught a root or something, already knew she'd stubbed them - flopped forward, grunted, rolled onto her back, the ground rough and uneven beneath her, and, and, the Fire Nation, Jet had been right about them. Pestle hadn't ever been that scared of them, their touch on the Freedom Fighters had been an accepted fact to her, taken for granted. She'd been too young to remember any parents, or where Mortar had even come from. And Jet would scare her sometimes when he got angry, angry about _them_, the bastards who wore red and killed and killed and killed, but Jet had always been right, just like Mortar, and the Fire Nation had taken Pestle's sister. Jet was dead, too - gone, but by an _Earthbender_, not a Firebender, that was so wrong, that was - everything was - so - so _wrong_...

Pestle finally felt the walls inside her crumble to dust and began crying, and the crimson canopy draped overhead said nothing in return.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_28 days until Sozin's Comet_

Prison life sucked.

Longshot supposed he should be grateful - that Waterbender Spatula knew had healed the archer up in a manner of minutes. The pain had subsided with an icy, relieving calm, leaving behind only the two small, diamond-shaped scars where the arrows had penetrated him. They were healing up nicely, too - still a little scabby, but the edges were a nice, healthy pink, which meant that he hadn't borne any further infections.

Spatula had said on their first day that the key to not being somebody's bitch in this place was to be a lot tougher than they really were; the ex-Freedom Fighter managed to get around that by cooking (he was arguably (supposedly) the best chef in the prison, in his own words), but he would repeatedly recommend that Longshot pick up that hardened, brutal exterior. That wasn't his thing, though, and despite his best efforts, Spatula seemed to forget that.

The problem - at least _part_ of it - was that, well, Longshot was _stuck_ with Spatula. Kind-hearted or not, and his best intentions notwithstanding, the Firebender did two things that just absolutely got under Longshot's skin: he rambled, frequently, to fill the silence the archer left instead of talking, and he treated said silence as a sign of idiocy. The archer doubted he did the latter on purpose - but, that seemed to be Spatula's trade, bungling into accidents that made him lose face.

The kid was _annoying_ (didn't matter that he was older than Longshot by a year or two, he was still a kid). Longshot kept his distance when he could, but downtime was only for a couple hours of the day; the rest of his time was spent either performing menial labor in the kitchen while Spatula cooked (though not always; sometimes he'd be assigned to other areas of the prison with a rough, splintery mop that kept nipping at his palms and fingers, callused as they were), eating bland, disgusting prison food with Spatula (even the old 'food was food' argument had little ground to stand on thanks to that barely-edible garbage), or being stuck in his cell with Spatula.

Lying on his back in his cot, Longshot sighed through his nose and shifted his weight. Keeping his left hand behind his head, the archer stared up at the steel-gray ceiling overhead, at a bulls-eye smeared onto the metal with some stolen grease from the maintenance bay. Longshot found himself mopping that floor pretty frequently, so smuggling away the occasional supply bit here and there had proven itself a habitual task - the grease today, a few nuts and bolts the day after, nothing the Fire Nation would really _miss_ in operating this prison. (He liked to fool himself into thinking they would, though...too tempting to believe he could still make a difference from in here. Even a small one.)

In his right hand, the archer held several of his stolen industrial bits - tiny, little things, easy to secret away, none of the heavy-grade materials (though he had those also, hidden in a shadowy corner of the room where light never seemed to reach, like it was afraid of the grodilation). One-by-one, Longshot tossed a nut, a bolt, a washer, up at the bulls-eye; _ping! Ping! Ping!_ Each time, hitting the center, each time watching the piece ricochet off the cold, rough metal and following where it landed so he could retrieve them.

This is what his free time amounted to. Throwing machine parts at a bulls-eye that wasn't even that hard to hit.

Some Freedom Fighter, right?

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

Smellerbee blinked, and did not look away from her charts at first, because – because she wasn't entirely sure she'd heard Skillet correctly. She drew in a slow, cold breath, exhaled it, and drew another before glancing up at the cook and shaking her head. "I – come again?"

"The Avatar. Um, Aang." Skillet cast out one of her hands, waving them at the Pai Sho table – one game of tactics and strategy replaced by another. (Smellerbee noticed how uncomfortable she was to refer to Aang by name, which was understandable - even though he'd stopped by on his journeys, he was still "the Avatar" to most Freedom Fighters.) "He survived the encounter with Zuko and Azula in Ba Sing Se and led an invasion force into the Fire Nation yesterday."

Smellerbee's chest tightened and her ears began to ring, a strange, rumbling throbbing coming from inside her skull. What - it didn't make any sense. Everyone she'd spoken to on the subject had either claimed Aang's death or been out of the loop. And - and he was _alive_…? That - that changed everything! For the longest time, all Smellerbee and Longshot had had to rely on was each other, because they both knew that no single, major force had been left standing, that any fight set against the Fire Nation would start on the small scale. And maybe it had been a bit ambitious of them to think that _they_ would be the ones to see the war's end one way or another, that they would helm that movement, make their own Freedom Fighters. And then Longshot had been taken, and Smellerbee had returned to Hong Ye to find everything shot to hell. Even though she'd managed to save her friends, there had still been losses, and she'd just about had it up to her eyes with dealing with all this crap. She never remembered Jet seeming this exhausted after a mission, which could either have been a testament to how heavy a toll all of this had been putting on her, or how inexperienced as a leader she was, maybe (probably) both.

All this time…

"You're not bullshitting me, are you?" Smellerbee asked at last, leaning forward over the table and meeting Skillet's eyes. "Like - seriously, I think I'd suffer a breakdown. You saw him?"

"No," Skillet admitted. "But Pipsqueak and The Duke have."

"_What_?" Smellerbee shot bolt-upright this time, eyes wide. "They're okay, too?"

"Yeah," Skillet replied, crossing her arms over her chest and crooking her head to the side. "Things didn't work out for them in Omashu because – "

" – because the Fire Nation overran it." Smellerbee felt giddiness washing over her like a high; they had survived, they hadn't even been in Omashu when Smellerbee and Longshot went, and – and all that trouble for _nothing_, really, because her friends were alive and okay, and, and a tickling feeling swelled upwards in Smellerbee's chest. Before she realized it, she threw her head back and laughed, a bubbling fit of glee and joy and renewed hope and suddenly the gears set out of place by the Overdweller and Longshot's ambiguous status clicked back into their proper positions. Smellerbee laid one hand flat down on the table. "Longshot and I were there. We ran into Azula and Zuko ourselves."

"Well – The Duke and Pipsqueak were traveling with some of Aang's allies, gathering as many as they could for this invasion. They stopped here to try to get Sneers to join, and he didn't."

All three of them had survived their ordeals! It was fantastic, amazing, and it wasn't as if Mortar and Telltale's murders no longer mattered – because it still did, it was still on her head, and she was more than willing to accept that responsibility. But it restored a level of functionality to the swordswoman, put salve on her wounded spirit. She'd still have to talk to Sneers (because he blamed her for the outcome of yesterday's brawl, which was why he wasn't in here helping her with her plans) before addressing the Freedom Fighters as a whole; she had proper motivation, and now all she needed now was a heading – a course to take, a direction to venture into –

The door to the hut swung open, and both Smellerbee and Skillet turned their attention to it – in the doorway stood an older boy in his mid teens, with tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. He had his hair pulled up into a topknot and wore the underclothes of a Fire Nation soldier, (she could recognize it so easily, from all the times they'd stripped members of the enemy down before sending them packing, selling off their armor for food and supplies), black fabric with a unique cut on the shins, shoulders and back – but, his eyes were brown, not hazel or yellow or amber. And he was – familiar.

"Didn't you used to have short hair and a beard?" Smellerbee asked, quirking her head to the side and frowning. His garb didn't matter because the boy _was_ a Freedom Fighter (their clothes came from wherever they could be found), but…

"Smellerbee?" He asked, his eyes going wide. "I thought you were dead."

"Just like a hellcat, I got nine lives." She smirked.

"What is it, Chameleon?" Skillet asked, rising to her feet. Smellerbee noted how she kept one hand anchored on the table as if afraid the floor would fall out from under her; didn't blame her, 'cause she knew how much of an ordeal it was for the cook to handle being in the tree house. "I thought Sneers stationed you in a Fire Nation outpost to gather information."

"My cover was blown," he said, tilting his neck sideways, cracking it. Ah, yeah – _now_ Smellerbee pinned him down. Chameleon was the best impressionist the Freedom Fighters had, and oftentimes when dinner called for some kind of entertainment, he'd offer his vocal talents to his friends. He could pull a laugh and a cheer from the grumpiest Freedom Fighter – even Sneers was known to crack a rare smile now and then. Easy-going and carefree, it almost surprised Smellerbee that Sneers would pick Chameleon to go subversive as a mole in the Fire Nation army – but his skill in deception probably made him perfect for what the monk had in mind. "I had to get out as fast as possible."

"You weren't tailed, were you?" Smellerbee asked, rising to her feet and glancing to Jet's swords, laying crossed on a nearby chest.

"N-no." Chameleon shook his head, and when Smellerbee returned her gaze to him, she caught him staring at her, befuddled – as if trying to come to terms with the fact that, yes, Smellerbee was actually still alive. The swordswoman didn't blame him. "I made sure. I learned from you guys, remember? I broke for a forest and made my way in the trees."

"Because the Fire Nation never checks them." She smirked again. "Good job. Now, uh – why are you here?"

"Oh! Yeah!" He smacked a fist into the open palm of his other hand, eyes going wide again. "I was looking for Sneers – I have a report to give him. Very important stuff."

"Well, since you haven't been in the loop, I should tell you that I'm in charge. At least – for now, anyway. Anything that's going to Sneers goes through me first." Smellerbee planted her hands on her hips. "What do you have for me?"

Chameleon hesitated – fixed Skillet with a questioning look, to which she responded by saying, "It's okay. Go on ahead."

"Alright, well…" He took a deep breath and exhaled it through his nose. Casting a serious gaze to Smellerbee, he said, "I've isolated a handful of paths the Fire Nation takes for moving supplies outside of the normal radius we attacked them with under – under Jet's command. It'll be helpful if we start running low ourselves – Sneers said the Fire Nation's been using the routes through and around the forest less frequently. But – but the big news – an archer got caught by the Fire Nation recently. A week ago, if that, brought to Pan Xing Island – a big Fire Nation prison, third-tightest in security of their entire prison system. We got a messenger hawk about it before I had to skip town - Whiplash, one of our new guys, went undercover there. The Avatar's Day of Black Sun invasion...well, um, it failed. Most of the prisoners from the invasion are going to be shuttled off there."

"What - how could it _fail_?" Skillet demanded, eyes wide, "Pipsqueak and The Duke were with them!"

"Well - the Avatar escaped, and what I've got through the grapevine says he took several of the younger invaders with him and his company, so it's _possible_ that The Duke went with him." Chameleon cast a quick glance to the side.

"Well, if the Day of Black Sun invasion flopped, I guess that's all the more reason for us to mobilize," Smellerbee murmured. But - oh man, Pipsqueak and The Duke had been caught in the middle of all that! It - it wasn't any fair, that she could have lost them so soon after having found out they were okay.

Before she could properly finish the thought, Chameleon's voice cut through the threatening haze. "But there's one more scrap of information he managed to get out to me: apparently the Fire Nation incarcerated this Earth Kingdom archer who's been causing a lot of trouble for them, and Fire Princess Azula's taken an interest in him for causing trouble in Omash - "

"**OKAY!**"

Skillet and Chameleon jumped in shock as Smellerbee knocked her chair back and brought one foot up onto the Pai Sho table. With a vicious grin, her heart thundering in her chest, she thrust one arm straight upward and pointed at the unseen sky above.

"Longshot's alive, knew the jerk wouldn't quit without me!" She felt her face getting sharp and, and – suddenly, everything was _right_ in the world. Aang and Pipsqueak and The Duke and _Longshot_ were alive, and as long as they were, then they could still win this thing – provided that there was even a war left that needed winning. "Freedom Fighters, we have a new mission! It's time we take the fight to the enemy. We've got a new source for pissed-off renegades that would love to take a piece out of the Fire Nation's ass, and we have to save one of our own – and we can do it all in one fell swoop. Call for an assembly! I'll find Sneers and set our plans into motion."

Grabbing Jet's swords from the table, Smellerbee strode past Chameleon and started to make her way to Sneers' hut.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Western Air Temple_

_22 days until Sozin's Comet_

"Hey, Teo, I want to ask you somethin' real quick."

The older boy turned his attention to The Duke, a grin splitting his face. Because of his wheelchair, Teo sat low enough to the ground where he and the Freedom Fighter were at eye-level so long as The Duke stood up – which was nice, because he liked not having to look up at people when talking to them.

"What's on your mind, The Duke?" Teo replied, grappling the wheels of his chair and turning them so he could better face the younger Freedom Fighter. The wood scraped against the stone floor of the Air Temple's corridors, echoing and rebounding before being swallowed up by the sound of Haru's Earthbending.

"Well – I got to thinkin'." The Duke shuffled his feet and tamped the butt end of his pike on the ground. Now that the time had come to, to – you know – _actualize_ the idea that'd been brewing with him, 'cause he'd been thinking about it for days now, his stomach and voice collaborated against him and nervousness began to overtake him. Sweat percolated on his brow and he fidgeted, trying to quell an uprising of flutterflies in his chest. "We walked away from the invasion, but the rest of our friends didn't. If a group of people that big can lose to the Fire Nation…what chance do you think the eight of us stand alone?"

Teo frowned, resting his chin in the crook of his gloved thumb and forefinger. His brow furrowed and his gaze flickered over to Haru for a moment before glancing up. "I…that's a hard question. The circumstances were different during the Day of Black Sun; Katara didn't fight once her father got injured, Aang, Sokka and Toph were too busy with Azula and the Dai Li…and we didn't have Zuko at the time, either." His eyes shimmered and his expression lightened. "I mean, I've got a pretty good feeling about this now that Zuko can teach Aang Firebending."

"But a contingency plan wouldn't hurt," The Duke said. Frowning, the young Freedom Fighter (the last of his kind) glanced over to Haru as well, the Earthbender shifting stances in order to bring up a wave of rocks before letting them settle back into the floor, undisturbed. He couldn't calm down, and he heard himself talking faster – out of control. "Say Aang _can't_ beat Fire Lord Ozai."

"I – okay." Teo nodded, and The Duke could see in his eyes that this particular game of Demon's Advocate didn't catch the older boy's fancy.

"I was thinking of reinstating the Freedom Fighters properly," The Duke explained, casting his free hand out into Teo's direction. "In case Aang fails. We'd do whatever we had to in order to make sure we save this planet. You know? And…and I'm _going_ to do it, but I want you to join. You've got what it takes, and I'll need a lieutenant who can operate advanced machinery like you can. You have that glider built into your chair, and you drove one of the slinky tanks in the invasion - "

Teo laughed, catching The Duke off his guard. The jittering sensation in his chest jostled (did he think it was a dumb idea?), but the older boy set the Freedom Fighter at ease almost instantly, resting a hand on his shoulder. Beaming, he said, "It's okay, you don't have to explain anything. I'll be your lieutenant. I…I'm kinda envious, to be honest, knowing how you grew up, and I'm honored that you want someone like me as a Freedom Fighter."

"'Someone like you?' What do you mean?"

"Well…I lost my mom when I was young, but I've known my dad for my entire life." Teo glanced up at the ceiling, and a vision of the scrawny, eclectic, frazzle-haired Mechanist entered The Duke's mind, if only momentarily. Very much an inventive sort, The Duke had gotten along well with the man, and he liked to think their lateral thinking meshed well together. "And yeah, the Fire Nation drove us from our home to the Northern Air Temple, and in the trip I got sick and lost the use of my legs…but, that was so long ago, I can't remember it." He shrugged, another grin splitting his face. "Until I met Aang a few months ago, I lived a pretty easy life. You – the Freedom Fighters, from what you and Pipsqueak've said, don't get that luxury."

The Duke didn't respond at first, the only sounds being the echoing, rebounding thunder from Haru's Bending. Around them, the catacombs of the Western Air Temple spanned into a rustic labyrinth, a twisting, turning oasis, ripe for exploring and sparring and playing. In his short time on this planet, The Duke hadn't yet seen anything like Airbender architecture before, and every little facet and design had so many interesting hooks to them.

Like life, really. Not to mention how much fun Mortar and Pestle would have had here - they would probably be lost for days, admiring these archaic designs.

"Just because the Fire Nation hasn't always been a factor in your life doesn't make you less eligible." The Duke decided, nodding and following Teo's gaze. "That's been a common theme, but my Freedom Fighters are going to be more than that. I want my Freedom Fighters to stand for something greater than revenge, to have a bigger cause other than oppression at the hands of the Fire Nation. That's why I plan on asking Zuko to join, too."

"Zuko, huh…?" Teo chuckled. "Sure, why not?"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_27 days until Sozin's Comet_

"...and so my cooking got him to step off," Spatula concluded, disregarding the tray of pseudo-foodstuffs laid out before him. They were in the prison's cafeteria, a wide, imposing room lined with benches and tables for the inmates to eat at. The walls and ceiling reflected back cold, gray, unfeeling metal, and the sun and sky only peered in through barred windows set high above their heads. In all honesty, Longshot hadn't been paying attention to what the Firebender was talking about. It was easiest on his sanity to amuse the boy; he was too thick to detect the masked abandonment in any of the archer's nonverbal sentiments, so a nod here and a furtive glance there usually satisfied him. "I have to tell you, though - I don't think I'd ever have gotten in proper shape if I hadn't been arrested for deserting the Fire Nation Army. I mean, being with the Freedom Fighters really slimmed me down, but I wasn't getting any muscle. Working out is pretty much the only thing you can do here when you're not pulling some sort of duty, and the food is so..._lean_, if you want me to be nice about it (even a chef can only do so much with the ingredients and kitchen he's given), that you don't get a whole lot of excess fatty stuff. And while making good food helps, it's a lot harder to, you know, be able to stand up for yourself and all that if you look sorta like an undercooked sweet bun."

Longshot let a genuine smirk tug at one corner of his mouth. Okay, that was pretty funny; Spatula-of-three-years-ago _had_ been on the doughy side.

"I got lucky, though...my cooking was popular enough to warrant respect from some pretty burly inmates," Spatula continued, leaning forward and folding his hands in front of his mouth, allowing a half-hearted grin past his fingers. "They're more than willing to drive away people who think they could make me their prison whipping boy." He paused, and as an afterthought, added, "Wish they served more fruit, though. I don't think I'll ever eat mashed potatoes ever again if I ever get out of this place. What about you, though? You don't do anything to make yourself less of a target. You get into a brawl with someone and you're screwed - assuming you still suck at hand-to-hand stuff. With the silent act, you're definitely gonna piss _some_ ignoranimous off, I guarantee."

Longshot shrugged. Yeah, his close-quarters skills were pretty questionable, but he'd gone up against a skilled unarmed fighter twice recently and walked away both times (so to speak). If all else failed, he'd at least keep avoiding blows until whoever wanted to hit him badly enough accidentally punched a wall. Or a bigger inmate. Either one would work.

The archer blinked when Spatula nodded in response, only slight befuddlement clouding his eyes. The Firebender sighed and turned to his food tray, sizing it up and hesitating before grabbing his fork from the small glop of mashed potatoes that remained on it. "That's not a bad plan, if I understood most of it right. Make up for your weaknesses with something you're kinda good at. You've spent so much of your life jumping around in trees that I'm sure some place like this wouldn't even be a problem." He waved a hand around, illustrating his point.

Setting a hand on Spatula's shoulder to draw his attention, Longshot narrowed his eyes. He'd been able to read him? Just a couple weeks ago, the Firebender had been struggling so hard the archer thought he'd strain his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," Spatula replied, beaming and waving his hand again. "It's still kinda hard, but - but I think I got it down. You're a lot more expressive than you used to be, so that helps."

Oh. Heat flushed the archer's face. So that means he probably knew Longshot had been blowing him off, then, huh?

"I got the feeling," the Firebender replied, running his free hand through the back of his hair and glancing away. "That's alright. You don't exactly have a reason to trust me, and...and I _do_ have problems when it comes to shutting up. My foot and my mouth are very familiar with each other. I know it bugs you."

With the thrumming sound of other inmates chatting in low voices around them, and the clatter of utensils on trays, Longshot simply sighed and grinned. Maybe there was hope for Spatula yet.

The rest of their meal was spent in respective silence, Longshot forcing down the steamed squash and mashed potatoes by matter of virtue; if he didn't eat now, there wouldn't be anything else until dinner. He knew all to well that food was food, regardless of how nasty it was. Still, even rotten, squished apples would have been better than this slop. (What he wouldn't give to eat _once_ during Spatula's shift in the kitchen...like the man or not, he _had_ been a good chef three years ago.)

Besides, if he didn't have his strength up, a jailbreak would be a lot harder to pull off.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 2: If you can't believe in yourself, then believe in me who believes in you**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

Sitting alone in his hut - his _old _hut, now, as he no longer felt proper living in Jet's (although he had yet to move his belongings back), Sneers sat cross-legged on the floor with his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed.

His children.

His precious _children._

Mortar and Telltale had both too young to be taken from this world, and - and if Smellerbee hadn't intervened, then they would both still be alive right now.

(_And you'd still be tied to a tree and the Overdweller would still be here and there'd be nothing you could do about it._)

"Shut up, self," he grumbled. There was undeniable logic to Smellerbee's plan, and...ugh. Okay, her arrival couldn't have come at a better time. Because her method had been clear and concise and the number of fatalities had been kept to a realistic minimum (that it wasn't any more than two during such an invasive violation of the Freedom Fighters' lifestyle..._astounded_ him). Because Sneers kept trying to put numbers to _his_ plan, where he waited for the right moment, and the future remained obscured by nebulous fog. The murderer could have killed any greater number of the children either in a fit of insanity, or malnutrition, or, or because none of his men would actually watch _out_ for them...

Too many variables.

Yeah, maybe Smellerbee _did_ make a better leader in the end, but these children needed a father figure more than someone to lead them to their deaths. That's the road that he'd originally set himself out on, the one he should still be _pursuing_, but Pipsqueak and The Duke had to open their big, stupid mouths and he'd decided to prepare the group once more to set foot on the battlefield.

They - Telltale and Mortar - could have stayed _out_ of the ruckus. Mortar had already been injured, and Telltale was just - just so _small_. It wasn't any fair, dammit. After all of Sneers' efforts to grind Jet's ways out of their lives, they reappeared at a crucial time and caused two children, two _babies_, to become as self-destructive as their late leader.

Smellerbee encouraged it, Spirits damn her. She'd said so herself: _'protect those weaker than yourselves.'_ It was part of the Creed, something Jet or Longshot or maybe even himself had thought up (it was so long ago), but all that did was make his charges throw their lives away to -

Before he could finish that sentiment, a hoarse, nasal voice derailed his train of thought, cutting through the mire he'd cloaked around himself. "Knock knock, the big bad bear wolf is here to collect the moose pig."

His brow furrowed (it's _her_, she's bold enough to show her face here!), but to reply would be to open up to her, and - and she was just as guilty as the murderer himself -

"Nothing? No love?"

Hmph. And she had the gall to act so _flippant_, when -

"Look, I could stand here all day and play this game with you, Spirits know I've seen Jet do it enough times, but there are leaderly things that need to be tended to. Since we haven't _technically_ sorted out who's in charge, I figured I'd do the nice thing and let you in on it." His door swung open, the hinges creaking against the heavy wood, and her lithe footsteps padding against the wood floor. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were _meditating._ But you're gonna have to put that on hold for a bit, 'k?"

He frowned, but kept his silence, earning a sigh from the swordswoman.

"Okay, I get it. You're cheesed off at me. You wanna know something? I don't blame you." She moved closer (he could feel her presence, invading his shell), but Sneers held steady. Maybe if he kept still long enough, she'd leave him _alone_. He didn't want anything to do with her right now. "You have every right to be mad. Any time a friend or a charge loses a life, it's not something to take lightly. We've lost Freedom Fighters in the past; this isn't any different and it's not any easier. And I bet, inside that noodle-choked head of yours, you're chasing deer hares in circles trying to find some way to pin the blame on me."

Nothing. No, nada, zip. He wouldn't yield and he had a lot of patience to spare. He had patience spilling over, he was a water pump of patience, a river, a lake, an _ocean_, grand and lethal and unfathomable by a single mind. He would swallow Smellerbee's attempts to get his attention and wash them away.

After a moment's pause, he heard Smellerbee snort and say, "Okay. Fine. I see how it's gonna be. Sit right here and think about things, I'll come back when I'm finished. I've already made the plans, and if you're not going to raise any objections, all that's left is to tell the others. I gotta admit, having you around would help put the Freedom Fighters I _don't_ know at ease, since the only reason they have to trust me is word of mouth from the ones who were here before, but..."

Sneers could imagine her shrugging and shaking her head - giving up, because there was nothing she could have done to make him move. As she left (and forgot to close the door), Sneers exhaled a sigh of relief. Good, begone with the bitch. He turned his thoughts inward, trying to find the reclusive, slippery balance that normally came to him so easily, but death loomed too recently, making zen impossible to catch hold of - like an eel in the lake. Like - like - footsteps, thunderous, but belonging to one person, charging at him from a distance...

...wait, what? That didn't make any sense -

Sneers' eyes snapped open just in time for him to see Smellerbee rush in through his front door, her eyes wide, hair whipping wildly around her head, mouth torn open in a feral scream, left arm back, hand balled into a fist -

"Sneers! _**LET'S SEE YOU GRIT THOSE TEETH!**_"

Springing into the air, she crossed the threshold once more, tucking her knees into her chest, and - beautiful sparks, liquid-hot pain throbbing in his cheek, rolling, crashing into the wall behind him with a great, thunderous clatter. Those few possessions left in the hut tumbled from shelves overhead and scattered across the floor. His cheek throbbed both inside and out, his teeth on the right side of his face ached, and the coppery tang of blood welled up around his tongue; his topknot had come loose, too, his raven-colored hair cascading down around his face. Instinctively, he shot one arm out to steady himself, grabbing onto a small footlocker emblazoned with red and gold, eyes wide - readying himself for what came next, but -

- but she didn't attack again. Smellerbee unfurled herself to her full height and stared down at the monk with eyes wide, her mouth set into an even line. Defiance _radiated_ from her, and it wasn't like when she had been younger - it wasn't a bratty, spoiled, snotty sort of defiance. No, this time she had an aura of the stuff so thick as to be nigh tangible, and - and, for the life of him, he couldn't get up to strike back, but whether it was out of fear or paralyzing respect, he couldn't tell.

"I wasn't kiddin' when I said you have the right to be mad at me." Almond-shaped eyes met his over that nubbin nose of hers; she was glaring at him, yes, but there was a unique blend of sincerity to go with it, neither cold nor alienating, condescending nor accusatory. "Yesterday, I found out that being leader means being the one to make the hard decisions. I _could_ have gone along with your plan to wait it out, to steal away the others two or three at a clip until they were all safe. I _could_ have let you follow the Overdweller on your own and tend to Telltale. I _could_ have put together something less dangerous. But I didn't, because time wasn't our ally and I could see a clear path with my method. I knew, going into it, there might be fatalities. It was something I would have to come to terms with."

"You _killed_ them," Sneers said, his voice strange to his own ears; childish, petty almost, but he - he _knew_ he was right. "Your plan got them murdered."

"Yes," Smellerbee agreed, nodding. "It's on my head. It hurts to know that - but turning my back to that fact would mean I'm going down the wrong path. I have a future to carve and a world to save, and I will _never_ deny that it's my fault we lost our friends yesterday."

Sneers' breath suddenly became - twisted, almost, scrawling, wriggling, a black miser writhing in his chest, clinging to his heart. He shoved himself up to his feet, his back and head throbbing with the pain of impact, and lunged at Smellerbee; he swung, but the girl ducked beneath his massive fist, dancing behind him, using her smaller, more fleet-footed form capitalize on the cramped space. He whirled around, tried to shoulder-check her; she back-stepped, vaulted off the same footlocker he'd used as support earlier, and soared over his head. A mule-kick from the monk missed her head by less than an inch, billowing past her shaggy mop of hair, and she twirled around into a crouch, rolling beneath him. He tried to stomp her, but she was already gone, up to her feet, side-stepping to his left, and with all his strength, he swung his fist around again (missed, dammit!), his momentum carrying him around, down, onto his hands and knees. His breath burned in his chest and the miser on his heart quaked, rage filling him, making him flush and sweat.

"Sneers."

The monk slammed his fists into the ground and scrunched his eyes tight. "Shut _up._"

"Sneers, I'm taking responsibility for my actions and you're still lashing out." Smellerbee's voice was quiet, reserved - but not afraid, no, she was still so bold, so _resilient_ even in her modesty. "Didja forget something?"

"It's _your_ fault."

"Yes, we've been over this. Who else?"

"Y-you. And _him._ The murderer."

"I can share that responsibility. But there's more, isn't there?" She pressed, and even though her voice turned upward her question wasn't much of a question at all. "Tell me."

"You and him."

"Sneers. _Tell _me."

"I - I can't - "

"Can't _what?_" And there, a vocal knife digging into his ribs. "Are you so selfish that you've lost your ability to see?"

"Shut _up!_"

"Sneers, it's me and the Overdweller and - "

" - I said shut up - "

Smellerbee's voice rose up, swelling over his, absorbing it, and she roared, "Stop acting like such a girl! Man up! _Who else is responsible?_"

"_ME!_" He shouted, whipping his head up and opening his eyes, glaring at her - and as the truth spilled from his mouth, he felt himself calming, because...because it was _true_, and he was, he was doing the _difficult_ thing, but also the _right_ thing...Smellerbee's gaze had not hardened, or become heated, and her eyes still remained open and clean, foisting no blame upon him. He felt the muscles in his own face going soft, and he expelled one last breath of hot air, the miser crumbling and fading and dying inside him, leaving him - pure. Whole again. In a softer voice, he added, "I am. I'm also responsible."

Smellerbee nodded, and a warm smile crossed her face. She extended a gloved hand to him, and said, "It's hard to face the fact that you led someone who trusted you to their deaths...but it's a lot easier to share the burden with someone else to lend you their shoulders. Whenever you lose your path, I'll be there to deck you and bring you back to your senses."

For a shocking, surreal moment, Smellerbee flickered away and - and Jet stood, just behind her, his cocky, roguish smirk alight on his face, his sharp eyes wrinkling at the corners. There was significance in his placement, behind Smellerbee instead of in front of or over her...and the grudging respect he'd been nursing for the girl since she first proved herself to him when they were younger bloomed a little bit, and he could _see_ the potential to surpass Jet's accomplishments in her.

When he blinked, Jet had vanished; the lanky swordswoman still remained, however, hand out to him, her teammate, and...

...and he clamped his hand around her wrist. She returned the grip around his and helped the monk to his feet. Because she had shown him a certain light he had been turning his back to ever since the Core broke up. Like she said, turning away from that fact would mean he's starting down a dark path...and he really wasn't that eager to get punched in the face again.

After a moment where the two met each others' eyes, they turned and left the hut, making for the dining hall. As they left, Sneers asked, "When the hell did you get so strong? You still look scrawnier than a starved wolf."

"A lady has to have _some_ secrets," she scoffed, and Sneers found himself chuckling at the faux imitation of snootiness.

"Let me tell you something, though...next time I meditate, I'm going somewhere that none of you can find me. Between you slugging me and Skillet beaning me with her frying pan..."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Western Air Temple_

_22 days until Sozin's Comet_

Zuko had to give the Freedom Fighters one thing, if nothing else: they certainly were a tenacious bunch.

Lowering his gaze to the fire he'd stoked before him, to the flickering flames casting an orange glow on the dust-coated brown stone of the Air Temple's floor, he remembered not too long ago how he'd met with Smellerbee and Longshot in Omashu, how he'd...how he'd wavered on that crossroads again, helping them to escape while later returning to his father's side. Another wasted opportunity to change, to make the right decision. Uncle had been right all along...the only person who could have restored Zuko's honor was himself.

If Azula had been privy to Zuko's involvement in the outcome of that battle, she didn't show it. Still, she was as manipulative as she was evil, and the only person who didn't bear the brunt of her unyielding hate was their father, the Fire Lord.

"The Freedom Fighters?" Sokka asked from across the fire, quirking his head to the side, keeping his gaze on the deer hare carcass laid out before him. The Water Tribe warrior used a small, hook-like tool to pull the guts from the creature through a well-placed cut in its belly; even though he'd been an enemy to Zuko in the past, it would be difficult to deny the bond that had been forming since the Fire Prince found his path alongside the Avatar. "I can get behind the concept of a morale-booster, but isn't that sort of camaraderie what killed Jet...?"

There was Jet again. Zuko remembered the shaggy-haired teen, the wheat stalk arched defiantly in his mouth, just a year or two older than Zuko himself, if that. He'd wanted so badly for the Fire Prince to join the Freedom Fighters until he found out about, you know, the whole _Firebending_ thing.

Yeah, hadn't exactly been a shining moment for either of them. That, more than anything, had been what led to Jet's murder.

The weirdest part? The Duke didn't seem nearly as opposed to Zuko as Jet, Smellerbee or Longshot had been. The Duke knew right off the bat that Zuko was not only Fire Nation, but the crowned Prince. Technically self-exiled, but still Prince nonetheless. (After all, who needed semantics in a time like this?) There hadn't been any hiding behind mistruths and forged identities, but Zuko wasn't dumb. Maybe prone to losing his way, yeah, but not stupid by any means. He got the feeling that if...if he told The Duke what he had experienced - at Ba Sing Se, at New Oz - er, Omashu, he might...

Well. Smellerbee had threatened to kill him if he didn't have his act straight. The Duke seemed a lot more forgiving...but the pits around Omashu had a visible bottom. If the young Freedom Fighter caught Zuko off-guard, it'd be a lot longer of a fall.

"Nah, it wasn't anything Smellerbee or Longshot did," Toph replied, sitting to Zuko's right with one leg drawn up, her arm slung across it. "_I_ think it's a good idea. Count me in, The Duke."

The Duke - stationed across from Toph, the fire casting dancing shadows and shimmering gold across his round, youthful face - could not have hid his blush even if he tried. He grinned, a wide, silly beam, and said, "Wow, cool. Thanks, Toph!"

"Don't mention it," the blind Earthbender responded, grinning and bowing her head just the slightest bit. "But you gotta promise me double servings for dinner."

This elicited a laugh from the assembled youths, and Zuko felt himself chuckling as well. It had been over a week since joining the Avatar, and the initial sensation of unease at...at _laughing_ with these people he had once fought so fervently against had mostly passed. (But only mostly.) They were genuinely good people.

"It's good to have a rallying point." Aang said, when the laughter had died down. "I do what I can as the Avatar, but maybe if people see regular citizens like The Duke or Haru taking up arms, it might...you know, inspire them to do what they can, too. Not that I advocate any excess violence it might drum up, but at this point it's not like we can afford to lose any more ground to the Fire Nation."

"Then why not work on promoting a message of peace to go alongside its base principals?" Teo suggested, offering Sokka a skinning knife. "We're fighting for that more than anything else, Freedom Fighters or no."

"That could work," The Duke murmured, nodding to himself. "It's part of what needs to get done, anyhow. If we keep fighting this war under any other pretense, it'll just lead to more war. And I dunno about the rest of you, but I'm sick of losing friends to this thing."

"And family," Sokka agreed. Zuko found himself staring down at the fire again, a frown lighting on his face. No doubt Sokka visualized his father - a man Zuko hadn't met, a man whom the others here swore stood taller and stronger than any other adult in their invasion force. It made Zuko a little bit jealous, knowing his friends had such a supportive paternal figure in their lives; the Fire Lord wasn't exactly the shining example of a good father. (He had to be like that, in order to favor Twisted-Bitch-Azula over Zuko.) "This is what you guys had to endure before, isn't it? Before your Core shattered. I think I understand that a bit better. I'm game. I'll join the Freedom Fighters."

"What about you, Katara?" Aang asked. The monk - four years Zuko's junior in body and spirit, ninety-six his senior in years - turned his head to Sokka's sister, who sat in silence with her arms crossed over her chest, her mocha skin tinged mango due to the firelight, her hair a rippling ocean of brown cascading down her back.

"I...don't know," she said at last. She fixed the fire with a thoughtful frown. "I can't come up with a good reason why, but I'm stuck on figuring out why _not_, too. It sounds like this revival of yours is going to take place regardless of what I think, The Duke...but I'm just not sure if I want to be a part of it just yet. Is that okay?"

"That's fair enough," The Duke yielded, shrugging.

Zuko, last of all, felt the attention of most of his peers settling on him. (Not Katara's, of course...but that was her own issue right now.) Shifting his weight, squirming under the combined gazes of those who would help him defy his own nation, he suddenly realized that - that he didn't know either, just the same as Katara - on whether or not he would join the Freedom Fighters.

"Well?" Toph asked, strumming her fingers on the stone beneath her, crooking her head. "What do you have, Flamebreath?"

"Oooh, I think that'd be a good Freedom Fighter name, actually," The Duke interjected, his grin widening a little. "And you could be the Blind Bandit, like from the Earth Rumble matches."

Toph beamed, her milky, glazed eyes shimmering. "I like your style. But Zucchini still hasn't answered my question."

"I..." Zuko shifted his weight again and frowned. What to say? The Duke had the right idea, yeah, and...well, he guessed he really wouldn't _mind_ joining up with them, but he had a history with the group. He'd met their now-dead leader, had been threatened by other members. It would become complicated if Smellerbee and Longshot ever decided to reunite with The Duke and his new Freedom Fighters. There really wasn't any easy way to explain that, was there...? He could lie - he could turn his head away and say he wasn't interested, because that sort of thing was so _corny_. He could act aloof, alone, like the only person who could watch out for himself _was_ himself...

...but Zuko wasn't that person anymore. He had found his path at the crossroads and taken it.

While it had mostly been through a retrospective understanding of what Uncle Iroh had strove so hard to teach him during his years of _forced_ exile, it'd be unfair to say the Freedom Fighters didn't have a hand in that as well.

The others waited in silence, patient - maybe the gears churning in Zuko's head were just that cacophonous. Drawing a breath to steady himself, he said, "It's a good plan. If I understand right, one of your group mantras is that Freedom Fighters need to watch out for each other because nobody else will, right...?" Zuko turned his attention fully onto The Duke to find that the young Freedom Fighter's smile had fallen into a befuddled frown, his head crooked at an angle. "A misguided soul taught me that once, months ago. And, at the time...I was too deaf to listen."

"..." The Duke's shoulders bunched up. "You met Jet. Before he died."

"Yeah." Zuko nodded. "Longshot and Smellerbee, too. We...Jet and I worked well together."

"He must not have known you were Fire Nation," The Duke mumbled, his gaze drifting towards the abyss sprawled out in the near distance, engulfing the Western Air Temple. "The Jet I know wouldn't have given you the time of day otherwise."

"You're perceptive for an eight-year-old." Zuko felt himself smiling. "And a lot more forgiving than your friends, you asking me to join your group and knowing who I am. Smellerbee, Longshot and I crossed paths again afterwards, and once they found out for sure...well, Longshot almost made good use of Jet's swords to my throat."

The Duke was up to his feet and had crossed over to Zuko before the Fire Prince could really actually register it - and strange, that was, because Zuko was so used to fighting in a frenzy that The Duke shouldn't have snuck up on him like that. Still, he managed, somehow, and the Firebender found himself lurching back as the Freedom Fighter leaned close into him, his eyes wide and - and glistening, in the firelight, and...was he _crying_...?

"They're alive?" The Duke whispered. "You saw them?"

"Almost three weeks ago, in Omashu." Zuko hiked his eyebrows. "You didn't know?"

"..." The Duke blinked, and that grin fluttered back onto his face. "No...but, that kinda makes everything better. Were they alright?"

"Well, they'd seen better days," Zuko admitted, glancing away and hoping to mask the awkward stutter in his voice. "I mean, they had a close brush with my sister and her friends, but they got out alive, at least. I think they mentioned something about looking for their friends."

The Duke giggled, a giddy, refreshing sound that reminded Zuko of a spring breeze in the Earth Kingdom territories, as he'd combed relentlessly for the Avatar. It had been such an annoying, obnoxious sensation at the time, but now...well, he was a different person, after all.

"Us," he snickered. "They were lookin' for me and Pipsqueak! Hahaha, I knew they were too recalcitrant to just up and die like that!"

"The Duke, this is great news!" Aang said, and The Duke's grin infected the young Avatar; he leaned forward and slapped his thighs. "That means they're all out there, right? That means you can all pull back together!"

The Duke turned to Aang planted his tiny hands on his hips. "And that means my Freedom Fighters are gonna grow just that much more, when the time's right."

Zuko felt a grin wriggling on his lips as well, despite himself.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_26 days until Sozin's Comet_

"You. Yer Longshot the Hawkeye, aint'cha?"

Longshot glanced up at the inmate looming over him - a lithe, beanpole of a man with toned arms and an unkempt beard scrawled across his face. With eyes narrowed and expectant like an eagle snake waiting for prey to emerge from its den (and a face just as charming), the man kept his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and planted one hand on the table.

"I heard a lot about you, you know," the inmate continued, his voice low and reedy. "They say yer a good bowman."

Was that _all_ they were saying? That's a pretty big understatement. Longshot turned his attention back to today's lunch and closed his eyes, scooping up another forkful of mashed potatoes and forced it down, because it didn't have any actual _taste_. The stuff was really just mushy, kinda-edible air. Or better yet, like eating pulped, soft parchment, and just as dry. Yeah, that was more fitting.

The inmate snarled and slammed his hand down onto the table, making Longshot's (and Spatula's, beside him) tray bounce against the metal framework. "Don't you ignore me, you smartass! I almost made it into the Yuu Yan five years ago and I'm not gonna have people go around sayin' some punk Earth Kingdom kid is better at my craft than me!"

From Longshot's right, Spatula said, "He isn't ignoring you, Jian Tou. You just aren't listening to him." Every time the boy said something to defuse situations like this, utilizing his affable nature and leverage as the prison's best chef to his advantage, the archer felt a fledgling, begrudging respect flare up in his chest. Say what you would about Spatula, but he knew how to use his tools well. Longshot appreciated the fact that, as their time spent together wore on, he had been learning how to not be the same bungling-yet-kind-hearted Spatula the archer had come to know and (retroactively) dislike. That sort of evolution was rare to see in a person, especially at that speed.

Maybe it was because they had spent so much time apart. Maybe not.

Jian Tou snorted. "Tche! You think you're a tough guy, Spatula, but you're a huge pussy and it's no secret. Back off. I got a score to settle with this so-called best archer in the Earth Kingdom."

Mmm. Longshot liked that one a lot better than just plain old 'good bowman.' But he intended on finishing his lunch, tasteless and bland as it was, before returning to his cell and throwing nuts and bolts at the bulls-eye painted in grease on his ceiling. He lowered his fork to take another scoop of potatoes.

Jian Tou took exception to that; with a snarl, he swept his hand across the table and sent Longshot's tray flying, soaring through the air before clattering against a nearby wall, splattering it with flavorless rice, papery potatoes and milky creamed corn - an impressive, artistic display of whites, browns and yellows. Longshot's fork stopped halfway between his mouth and the table, empty, and the archer swore it yearned for the bland, tasteless meal, because it had at least been something to eat.

"Come on," Jian Tou growled, a wicked grin perking up one corner of his mouth, revealing two yellowed rows of teeth. His olive skin wrinkled near his nose, his eyes, revealing his true age - somewhere in his mid thirties, a man who had probably _not_ almost been accepted into the Yuu Yan as early as five years ago and instead more likely twice that amount. He stood back and beckoned at Longshot with a 'come hither' motion. "Show me what the Earth Kingdom has to offer, kid!"

Longshot blinked, slowly, before letting go of a breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Swinging a leg out from under the table, he could feel the attention of the other inmates nearby stuck to him and Jian Tou; the tray crashing into the wall had proven obnoxious and intrusive enough to draw their eyes to the Freedom Fighter. Tension churned like thick fog in the air, one which would not be dispelled unless Longshot actually did something about it.

These men were starved for action, and given the doldrums of his daily life since coming here, Longshot didn't blame them. Fine, then...let them have a show.

Tightening his grip on the fork still clutched in one hand, he glanced up to Jian Tou's leering face, twisted, contorted by some kind of desperate, impotent rage, as if he had something to prove against Longshot. Let him keep thinking that, because soon that hope would be all he had left to cling to. There was a paralyzing moment where neither archer moved, but Longshot had been in more dire straits in the past; he let his gaze bore into the would-be Yuu Yan's skull, a psyche-out tactic, but if it shook the older man at all, he didn't show. Fine.

After drawing as much tension as Longshot dared, he made his move; he whipped his free hand out, snatching up his spoon and Spatula's utensils in one go. Pushing up from his seat, he rolled backwards over the table, between two of Spatula's less menacing buddies, grabbing _their_ utensils as well; Jian Tou lunged after him, clambering up and over the bench, slow, awkward, and Longshot realized that what Spatula had said yesterday about spending most of his life tree hopping working to the archer's favor held truth.

The Freedom Fighter landed on the cold metal floor in a crouch, lunging sideways up into a run, twisting his body around so he could see where he was going. The other inmates rose, trying to get a good view, and raucous cheers thundered through the cafeteria; he hadn't ever liked performing so centrally. Leave the grandstanding to Bee or Jet; he'd sooner sit in the shadows and wait for his time in quiet anticipation. Sometimes, though, you had to swallow the bitter pill, and with Jian Tou hot on his ass, Longshot poured his all into Just Another Fight, legs pumping, sweat beading on his brow, making his hair slick.

It didn't compare to a real fight in the wild or in a city, but it'd have to do. He heard the sound of Jian Tou's footfalls, shoddy leather slapping against metal, keeping close behind, but he couldn't reach Longshot - not yet, and not ever, really, he was too out of practice. The archer veered, changing his trajectory, leaping over the heads of two short men and a woman between them, landing on the table and scooping up their utensils as well before springing into the air again. He landed on the floor between rows of tables, crouching, before sprinting at the wall again. Jian Tou kept pace, and as Longshot's muscles burned with the familiar sensation of having to, _needing_ to move for the sake of survival, he felt part of himself that had resigned to this life yielding to the Freedom Fighter inside.

The steel, cold wall of the cafeteria loomed before him, but it wasn't an obstacle; it was a friend, an ally, just this once. He jumped at it, planting one arm and one leg against the unyielding, cold metal; just as quickly, he pushed away, flipping in the air, Jian Tou now in beneath the Freedom Fighter. The would-be Yuu Yan craned his head back, beady, yellowed eyes going wide with rage, and Longshot landed in a crouch, throwing out first one arm, then another, the metal utensils slicing through the air so fast that they looked themselves like the shafts of silvery arrows.

Metal could pierce metal if the impact was great enough, and Longshot had the strength and experience to make the magic happen; with a strangled cry, Jian Tou stumbled forward and slammed into the wall, the accumulated knives and forks pinning his uniform to the structure. Not a single one hit the man himself, nor did they miss and hit the wall without catching the clothing.

Longshot stood up, slowly, just as the howling cheers for a fight erupted into a victorious roar. Jian Tou cursed, struggling to break free, and Longshot crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

That'd show anyone bold enough to step.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_26 days until Sozin's Comet_

Pipsqueak had always assumed getting caught by the Fire Nation would lead right to his death; the Freedom Fighters may not've been a great big resistance group, since before Aang showed up at the forest a lot of their missions had been pretty local (liberate a town here, 'liberate' supplies from a caravan or camp there), but the Fire Nation was pretty strict anyhow. The fact that he'd been part of the Day of Black Sun invasion really should'a put a nail in the coffin, though...but, maybe the Fire Nation had a just side to them. That would be why, instead of a trial and execution, he'd been sent to this place - a prison island - with the rest of the rebellion.

Don't get him wrong, though. It had been a process - lots of standing around in shackles, being prodded at and taunted by uppity Fire Nation guards who thought they knew better, who thought that the metal trinkets they'd put on his wrists made him any less dangerous. (Seriously - for a man who had hefted _boulders_ before, Pipsqueak could snap the shackles like dry twigs if he tried.) It was boring more than anything else, though because - because Hakoda said to _wait_, to bide their time.

Pipsqueak had grown to trust and respect Hakoda over the past couple months. He wasn't gonna renege on that trust now, so he'd wait.

When he arrived at Pan Xing Island, they did a little more processing - a lot of paperwork to be filled out (by somebody else, thankfully enough, but he'd still been forced to sit there and watch him do it) - and finally, the shackles came off and he was told it was lunch time, and that he'd eat whether he wanted to or not. The invasion force got sectioned off into smaller groups, and his was being led to the lunch hall now.

(He didn't doubt that prison food would be crappy, but...well, the old Freedom Fighter mantra of 'food is food' stood even _after_ the Freedom Fighters. He'd do his best to choke down whatever slop they fed him.)

The halls were dank and cramped and rust-orange on all sides as they walked, their leather-clad feet shuffling and echoing on the floor. Ahead of him, Pipsqueak saw the Swampbender with gray hair, Huu, and beyond him, the Boulder, his massive shoulders quivering and rippling under the flickering orange torchlight hanging from the walls and ceilings. A few more of the warriors had been lined up in front of Huu and behind Pipsqueak, but it was hard to see them in this light, and really, they'd be out in a more open space soon, anyway. Or at least, that's what he figured.

As they walked, guards keeping close to them from the sides, the Boulder cocked his head and murmured, "Hey. Do you guys here that?"

"Huh?" Pipsqueak asked. He strained his ears - nothing, aside from their own footsteps and the clanking armor of the guards. "No."

"Cheering." The Boulder's shoulders (heh) squared themselves, and from his tone of voice Pipsqueak could imagine the Earthbender's mouth being set in a straight line. "Distantly. A lot of people, too. The Boulder's spent a lot of the last few years listenin' to that sound."

"Hmm." Huu glanced up at the ceiling, and from this angle Pipsqueak caught a glance of his shaggy beard. "Maybe something inspiring's happened. This is a prison; I'm sure the inmates will be happy to receive it more than they would their daily meals. Anything to make the future look brighter."

"Wise words," Pipsqueak admitted, nodding.

"Hey, you Earth Kingdom dogs! Keep your mouths shut!" One of the guards turned to Pipsqueak, the Boulder and Hue, his face obscured by that skull mask, a pole-arm in his hand. "Save it for the cafeteria."

Before the guard could say anything more, urgent footsteps and hurried clanking began rebounding off the walls; from up ahead, a group of three or four guards erupted from around a corner, screeching to a halt upon spotting the line of prisoners. The guards motioned for the inmates to stop.

"What is it?" Demanded one of the guards from the line, her voice gruff and low.

"One of the inmates is rallying the others," came the response, panicked and desperate. "It started out as a brawl, but he turned it to his advantage! We're looking at a riot if we don't clamp down on it soon!"

The lady-guard who'd spoken before spat a curse. "Which idiot started the whole thing?"

"The guy who thinks he almost got into he Yuu Yan, getting stuffy with the Earth Kingdom archer we caught a while back. Longshot the Hawkeye."

Pipsqueak jerked back instinctively. There was (_what?_) no way it could be a coincidence. No _way_. Longshot wasn't exactly a common name, and - and how many _archers_ from the _Earth Kingdom_ would go by that? It _had _to be -

Longshot was _alive_?

"Well, dag," he murmured. His chest, his throat tingled, and he couldn't - it was so hard to believe, it was - it was almost like finding out Jet had died all over again, but in reverse, because - because now instead of being _sad_ and confused, he was - _happy_ and confused. He'd finally moved on, finally accepted that - that he'd never see his old friends again...

To add to the surrealism of the moment, both the Boulder and Huu echoed the name, "Longshot?" at the same time, and - and, did they _know_ Longshot somehow? Was it before Pipsqueak had joined the Freedom Fighters ('cause there was a lot of time unaccounted for where he hadn't known the archer)? Or - or had they known he'd survived Lake Laogai, and the opportunity to talk about it never came about?

Too many thoughts, his head buzzed with all of 'em zipping around just outta reach. He knew one thing for certain, though; his friend, his _friend_ was alive, and that meant maybe Smellerbee was too, and -

And he'd have to break his trust in Hakoda, after all. Giving a sardonic grin to the back of Huu's head, Pipsqueak crouched down and murmured, "Sorry."

He angled himself at the nearest guard and body-checked him into the wall.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

Pestle had no idea how it happened...but somehow, she'd found her way home, to her hut, the one she had built, shared with Mortar. But most everything between running away from the clearing and now was a blur, and even then she felt herself half-dazed. She had to - had to drag herself upright, even if her body and spirit and heart wanted nothing to do with it. Had to, absolutely had to, there was no point in being useless, weak, because that's what she'd been before, when she was a different person incapable of standing on her own two feet without her sister's shoulder to hide behind.

No more of that.

No more of - of teaching Mortar how to swim, of making blueprints so they could both build something together (because Mortar had never been good with design), no more bickering, no more hugging, there wouldn't be that sort of thing, it had gone, past, and she felt her body quaking as she hunkered down in a chair set against one wall, a low sob squeezing past clenched teeth.

Pestle had designed this hut personally, like she had so many others, but she knew what she and her sister wanted more than any of the other Freedom Fighters and managed to create it based on that shared necessity. She'd made it spacious intentionally, so they could Earthbend miniature versions of their buildings, pound out inconsistencies and fix any construction-based issues without figuring that stuff out halfway through a project. To that effect, they'd kept one corner completely bare so they could stack rocks up against it to use just for that purpose, and many potential disasters had been averted with this kind of forethought. Along with the makeshift drafting table against one wall, and small cabinets holding the parchment, the rulers, the quills and inkwells, not to mention both girls' personal belongings, Pestle had had to do some creative space management to get it all done right, and it had worked, and they managed to conserve even more space by using hammocks instead of mats.

But even with the hut designed the way it had been, it hadn't ever felt empty, not once. Not even when Pestle had been sidelined by a flu surging through the Freedom Fighters and knocking them flat on their asses one-by-one. Mortar had managed to stay immune and had to spend the next few nights with Longshot and Viper (the three had been the only fortunate ones); still, Pestle may have been isolated, but she hadn't been _alone_.

Now, though...now, the hut felt _too_ big, like Mortar had taken Pestle's sense of scale with her, like maybe - maybe she hadn't needed _this_ much room, and she felt just, lonely, so lonely and confused...

"Pestle? You there?"

Smellerbee. A gentle knock accompanied her voice, and Pestle froze, her hands folded in her lap, fingers clenching at her skirt, right above her knees; she hadn't, hadn't even stopped to think, to realize, that the older girl had returned, it had been an afterthought, barely registering, and would anyone have blamed her? There were too many other things to think about, too overwhelming, too..

"I want to talk to you," Smellerbee continued, her voice calm, and the young Earthbender clenched her jaw until she heard her teeth creak. Even though it was mid-summer, the air in this place had gone chilly, and Pestle _swore_ she wasn't just imagining it. "I'm taking some Freedom Fighters on a mission, and...well, I want to know what you would like to do. But if you want time to be alone..."

Yes - yes, Pestle wanted to be alone, now, but she really _didn't_ want to be alone, and - and it was confusing. She remembered back to when The Duke and Pipsqueak had stopped by...about how hearing about Jet, and then Smellerbee dying, had, it had been a _lie_, hadn't it? It had, but Pipsqueak hadn't known any better, and Smellerbee (one of Pestle's role-models) had come back from the grave, and she was here, and she was now, but she wasn't _Mortar_, so it didn't make a difference!

But...

But it did. Smellerbee was still important, and she'd come to see Pestle, Pestle _specifically_, and that meant something, right...?

Pestle drew a deep breath. Okay. Okay, you can do this...she exhaled and drew another one before saying, "Come in."

The door creaked open (had it always been that heavy? And when had the hinges started squeaking?), and in stepped - yes, Smellerbee, shaggy hair, face adorned with war paint, a headband partially obscuring her eyes, it _was_ her, and - and Pestle straightened up in her seat, her chest alight with pinpricks, throat tightening.

"Um." Smellerbee glanced away for a second before meeting Pestle's gaze. "Look, about...about..."

The Earthbender bunched up her shoulders, clenched her teeth - had to look away, because there were about fifty ways to finish that statement and each one was heavier than the last...and Pestle didn't like _any_ of them.

It took a moment, but Smellerbee cleared her throat and managed to regain her composure. She nudged the door shut with one shoulder, and it was now that Pestle realized the older girl had something in hands...in the left, she held something long, tapered at one end, something that glistened in the cold, gray sunlight filtering in from the windows situated against the rear wall of the hut. It was...a glass bottle? Beneath the turmoil of other, more hectic, more pressing emotions, she felt a small twinge of curiosity, but couldn't bring herself to satisfying it- the other stuff was too raucous, drowned everything else out. In her other hand, she held two wooden cups pinched between her fore and index fingers, the surfaces rugged but shimmering, waterproofed.

"I...Sneers and I have made plans about what to do next," Smellerbee said at last, voice cautionary, venturing forward with only its toes extended outward, and even though Pestle didn't look up at her face, she could imagine her biting her lower lip. She wandered over to the drafting table and set the cups down on it before dragging over another chair that had been propped next to it, the legs squealing against the wooden floor; she picked the cups up again and plopped down into the chair, sitting directly across from Pestle, and all the young Earthbender cared to see was the swordswoman's legs at this point. Her head had become too heavy, burdened by the, the shame, the sorrow, all of that stuff that was icky and wimpy and wouldn't go away.

"So?" Pestle asked - her voice came out low and ragged, and - and did she really sound that bad off? Well, yeah, she _was_ that bad off, but it was weak to let other people see your emotions so nakedly, and she couldn't be weak anymore.

"You're Sneers' lieutenant." Smellerbee shifted her weight and grunted. "I've already looped Skillet in, and you matter just as much."

"Being second-in-command by myself is silly." Pestle tried to chuckle, but it came out more hoarse, like a choked cough (like when she'd been all phlegmy and gucky with that flu). "There's no point in keeping me involved with that stuff anymore."

"But there is," Smellerbee insisted, and her tone of voice shifted - away from precaution, became more solid, grounded - leaderly. "Pestle, you've got crazy potential for leadership - you were able to lead the Hunter Brothers into battle, and if what they told me was correct, you did it under incredible stress, with everything turned on its head. You should be proud of yourself."

"I'm really not."

"Either way," Smellerbee continued, "Sneers and I had a little chat. We know what we're going to do from here and how we're gonna do it, and we've both agreed that you need to know what's going on. Sneers wants to coddle you and treat you as a victim..." The swordswoman picked the bottle up off the floor and yanked out the cork, a sharp, squealing noise racking the air. "But I think you're old enough to make your own choices."

Pestle at last glanced up - looked at Smellerbee properly, but she'd already leaned over and picked up one of the cups. She poured some of the sloshing contents of the bottle into the cup, and - it looked like water, but Pestle was at least clever enough to know differently. Freedom Fighters didn't use glass bottles to cart around water, and Smellerbee wouldn't have brought and two cups along with her on the off-chance the Earthbender was thirsty.

"Here," Smellerbee said, holding the cup out to her. "You've never been much of a drinker, but..."

But...Pestle glared at the cup. This was something adults did - drinking for the dead. It was an honor thing...there were always the public toasts at dinner, and Pestle - she'd always drank water, because booze made her head funny. And she couldn't even imagine chugging straight from the bottle...Jet did that a lot, he never let anybody see, but Pestle had been lucky, she'd peeked into his office (even though she really shouldn't have). Still...

Pestle reached out and took the cup in one hand, supporting it from the bottom with the other. Now she could pick up the scent - grainy with a subtle hint of spice, wafting up to her, making her toes curl. Smellerbee picked up the other cup and filled it up for herself; Pestle knew this part, had to - to wait - and when Smellerbee was ready, she raised her cup, and the young Earthbender raised her own in return. And, and then - the cup pressed against her lips, hands shaking, and - tilted the cup back, took a big, deep gulp -

Dry, throaty, burning her tongue, her throat, all the way down to her stomach, and she coughed, slamming a fist against her chest, almost spilling the booze, and - "Hkkk - geh - what the heck _is_ this?"

"Fire Nation whiskey," Smellerbee said, taking a swig from her cup and gasping. "Strong, but on the cheap side. We didn't have much else in storage. I guess the Overdweller and his goons got to all the good stuff."

"So...you said you had a plan." Pestle furrowed her brow and took another sip - choked again - burned so much, it was so dry, she wasn't used to this, but if Jet could swill the stuff to help him forget his problems... "And you trust me to make the right choice. I couldn't even save Mortar's life!"

"Not for lack of trying." Smellerbee crooked her head to the side and frowned.

"It doesn't - that doesn't matter. I'm a terrible person, I'm - " Pestle paused - remembered, earlier in the day, just a blur really - meeting Skins after running away from the clearing. His words were all muffled, she could barely remember his face at the time...but one sentence stood out above the rest, and she wasn't sure how she'd actually _missed_ it, even given her...state of mind. "_'__It's the responsibility of the older siblings to take care of the younger ones__.'_ And I fucked that up."

Another foreign thing, the cursing. There hadn't - they were such venomous words, but now...maybe the whiskey was already affecting her, because the f-bomb didn't make her feel awkward like it used to, didn't leave her feeling like she _oughtn't_ say it.

"That's a general rule of thumb for all of us, though." Smellerbee shook her head. "_'Look out for those weaker than yourself.'_ Part of the Creed, remember?"

"And I - I didn't. I couldn't." Pestle clenched her teeth and squinched her eyes shut. "Spirits..."

Silence settled between the two, and - it was awkward, yeah, but Pestle was kind of grateful for it because it was enough to try keeping all of this stuff outside, where Smellerbee could - could _see_ it. She felt bad enough...the last thing she needed was pity.

After a moment, Smellerbee finally said, "Sneers and I are leading a team into the Fire Nation to save Longshot."

...!

Pestle met Smellerbee's eyes, and - and - something in the back of the young Earthbender's head thrummed, pulsated, made her vision go all wavery, made her ears hot and her scalp tight. The Fire Nation. The Fire Nation! They - that man, the murderer, he had been Fire Nation, he had invaded the forest, violated it and the Freedom Fighters, would have - would have killed _all_ of them if Smellerbee hadn't shown up (except maybe not, maybe Pestle and the Hunter Brothers would have been enough to save the day but there were too many possibilities) and, and it didn't make a difference! Jet - Jet had been right, Pestle always felt like he was being a little too intense, but now, now - no, not anymore, Jet had been dead-on-balls accurate, the Fire Nation _was_ evil, they were cruel, they just stole whatever they wanted without any consideration for their victims, for - for - for Mortar, for Pestle -

The thought of going to the Fire Nation disgusted the young Earthbender, because that was the enemy, they were monsters, they were diseased, insane. Like, like the very air had cooties or something, their own nasty flu that made the entire population heartless. But - but the chance to, to get...get revenge...

Fuck eye for an eye. They'd taken an eye; Pestle would take their head.

Pestle took another gulp of the whiskey, this one big, long - drink with gusto, Jet would have said. It didn't stop burning, didn't feel any more comfortable, just raking dry, clawed fingers down her throat, across her tongue, but that was fine, she wasn't feeling inebriated, she was _awake_, aware, had clarity she'd been missing before. Yes. Yeah, okay. Go into the Fire Nation. Go on the road with other Freedom Fighters, practice Earthbending, using the twin battle hammers, on the journey.

"We would have to cross through several occupied Earth Kingdom territories," Smellerbee continued when Pestle offered no response. "In order to stay incognito, we would need to wear Fire Nation clothing, and we have plenty of that stuff lying around. The reason I'm telling you all of this now is because...well..." Smellerbee glanced to the side, bit her lower lip. "If you were to stay behind, I would need your leadership skills here, because Skillet can't handle that sort of thing on her own. But if you come along..."

The swordswoman let her sentence drift away, unfinished, and Pestle furrowed her brow. Okay, okay, wearing the skin of the enemy...she wasn't _thrilled_ with that idea. She hated the Fire Nation, for everything they stood for.

...but if it meant drawing some blood...

She squared her shoulders and nodded at Smellerbee, her leader. "Yeah. I want to go with you. I want to make a difference. It's what Mortar would've done. Being second in command wouldn't be the same by myself."

Smellerbee nodded, a grin lighting across her face. "Good. We're gathering at the dining platform tonight. I'll lay down the plan for the other Freedom Fighters. See you there." And with that, she was up - out - gone from this spacious hut, taking the bottle and her cup with her, leaving Pestle with a mostly-emptied cup of whiskey. After a pause, Pestle downed the rest of it, grunted, and tossed the cup into the corner of the room, slouching back in her chair.

"_Is_ it what you would have done, Mortar?" Pestle raised a hand up to her head and scrunched her eyes tight. Without Smellerbee to see her - to see how _weak_ she really was, she felt all sorts of tension she hadn't known she'd had loosening up inside her, unknotting, leaving her just a fraction of herself again. That was okay, because without the pressure of being in front of someone, she could let go, she could - already felt the hot rivulets zig-zagging down her cheeks, and. "If...if our roles had been switched...if I'd died instead of you...would _you_ have gone into the Fire Nation...?"

The world yielded no answer but silence.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 3: Fortune favors the brave**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_29 days until Sozin's Comet_

"Freedom Fighters," Smellerbee announced, standing at the head of the dining hall with her head held high. The others sat at the tables lining the platform, their meals hot and steaming and fulfilling before them, ready to be devoured, but the swordswoman held their rapt attention. It gave her the impression that she alone sated their hunger, and it filled her with electric confidence. Watching Jet give speeches had left her feeling the same way; full without being stuffed, eating a good meal that warmed from the inside out. In a way, completing her.

She didn't quite have his capacity for showboating. Not yet, anyway, but - she wasn't Jet, was she? No, this was Smellerbee's time now, and she'd make up for her shortcomings with her own style.

"The time has come to show the Fire Nation just what it is we're made of." She walked towards the center table, each step slow, confident, so rooted that even the Spirits themselves would have trouble moving her. Voice strong in its hoarseness, she lowered her head just a little and grinned, letting the brim of Longshot's hat cast a veil over her eyes. "For the past nine years, Jet has been teaching them what it means to trespass in this forest, to steal from us so frivolously, as if it was their right and they were to suffer no consequence. But with the past couple days' events still fresh in our minds, it's become more obvious than ever that the Freedom Fighters will never be truly safe until the Fire Nation has been defeated and the war's been won in our favor."

Smellerbee reached the table's edge and planted the sole of her boot against it, hoisting herself on top of the wooden surface and beginning to march along the narrow strip where plates had not been set for those remaining. "I know most of you don't know me personally, but I've heard the talk going around. I appreciate the trust you place in me, despite the hard times that have befallen all of us, and I hope that I can treat you just as well as Sneers did. Earlier today, Chameleon returned from his undercover position in the Fire Army, reporting the failure of the Avatar's invasion in the Fire Nation. While the Avatar himself escaped, the bulk of his invasion force has been captured and is being held on Pan Xing Island, a Fire Nation prison. If we want any chance at winning this war, we need to free those who would stand beside us, and to rescue those who already have. If the Fire Nation thought their troubles had ended...they were _very sadly mistaken._"

The other Freedom Fighters - even the newcomers - cheered, and Smellerbee reached down, scooping up an ornate chalice full of ruby-red wine. Bugs chirped into the night around them, flickering torchlight providing the only source of illumination, casting its orange glow in all directions, while darkening pits of shadow at the same time. After taking a sip of the wine, the bitter flavor washing over her tongue, down her throat, she held the chalice up into the air, a confident grin on her face. She felt the corner of her mouth quirking for more, but she couldn't act _too_ excited - not yet. The other Freedom Fighters' support - those she knew growing up, those whose faces were new to her - energized her, her head buzzed from the yelling, her fingertips tingled...yes, this was _it_, this was what Jet must have felt every time _he_ took to the tables like this.

When the vociferous support settled back into the quiet thrum of midsummer's night, Smellerbee brought the chalice back down, close to her chest. "This is why I will personally lead a team of Freedom Fighters to Pan Xing Island. Sneers!"

"Yeah, what is it?" He asked from down the table - and even though his tone was snarky and he _sounded_ like he was trying to be difficult, he had a hard time keeping the smirk off his face, confident and bold.

"You'll be with me." Smellerbee narrowed her eyes at him. "I'll need somebody that can hit hard on my team and you're the hard-hittingest."

"Okay, that's good," Skillet said from Smellerbee's ankle. The cook's color had drained from her face - she'd been up here since this morning, and the poor girl looked at the end of her rope. Even her hair frayed a bit, belying her exhaustion. "But with you two gone, who's gonna lead?"

"I'm glad you asked," Smellerbee returned, sweeping a hand out to her. "Because the Freedom Fighters have a gap that needs filling, and you've got the most chops and experience for the job. Skillet, I'm appointing you our _pro-tempore_ leader."

Smellerbee saw Skillet's mouth curl into a circle - _knew_ she was shouting, "_What?_" - but her exclamation had been swallowed up by the cheers of the rest of the Freedom Fighters, which rose up again like a tidal wave, a roar of approval for the long-serving cook and teacher, the one whose maternal instincts did not go unfelt by a single Freedom Fighter. Even Skillet's 'problem children' pumped their fists into the air and howled for her, those that she had to drag kicking and screaming through a lesson in class. Sneers, further down the table, clapped alongside the others, his smirk gone from cocky to knowing.

It had been something they'd discussed between this afternoon and now.

"What do you mean, I'm in charge?" Skillet asked when the din had faded once more. Her eyes had gone wide and her complexion pallid, her lips drawn taut across her teeth. "Just 'cause I know my military history doesn't mean I'm cut out for this sort of thing. I teach and cook - that's my comfort zone and you're _really_ taking me out of it."

"Your care for your peers is second to none," Smellerbee said, grinning. "You'll be in charge, but I'm also assigning you a set of lieutenants to cover what you lack. Spike, Viper, Piper, you're my men."

The three warriors - all a couple years Smellerbee's senior - pumped their fists into the air, earning another round of exuberance. Smellerbee had known them for years, and they all had proven themselves in various aspects, including some leadership skill.

The swordswoman, in the raucous din, cast her gaze over to Pestle - Mortar's twin sister (_by blood or not_), the survivor, normally so shy and polite as to almost be withdrawn. But tonight...tonight, Smellerbee saw determination burning brightly in those eyes of hers, her blonde bangs curled and framing her sharp face, just as it had earlier in the day. Pestle, sitting on a chair in a hut spacious enough for two, holding a wooden cup in one hand and the other curled up in her lap, glaring up at Smellerbee. That same determination had been there - sadness, too, but there was also an undeniable strength surging up from beneath, behind the young Earthbender. Meeting Smellerbee's gaze, she said, _"Yeah. I want to go with you. I want to make a difference. It's what Mortar would've done. Being second in command wouldn't be the same by myself."_

Before concluding, Smellerbee rattled off the list of Freedom Fighters that would come with her and Sneers; mostly warriors a few whose talents lay specialized in weapons maintenance, cooking, and craftsmanship. Most of the better combatants would stay behind and guard the hideout.

With the announcement made, Smellerbee turned on a heel and marched back to the head of the table, hopping off the end; she whirled around to face her charges again and raised the chalice above her head once more.

"We move out tomorrow, so eat your fill!" Smellerbee finally succumbed to the grin that had been threatening to take her, peeling her lips back. "It's time to end this war, Freedom Fighter style!"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_26 days before Sozin's Comet_

Spatula wasn't sure if he should join the fray or cover his ears, though instinct pointed him in the direction of the latter. As a compromise, he hunched his shoulders up as tightly as he could and frowned. On either side of him, inmates had pushed away from the bench and began slamming their food trays on the tables, cheering Longshot on as he turned away from the pinned supposedly-would-be Yuu Yan.

Well, nobody would probably mess with the archer after this, which was good. It kinda made Spatula jealous, since what Longshot had done was all natural to the guy by this point. Cooking was more of a behind-the-scenes thing, you know?

If habit held true, though, there would be more trouble now that the scene had made the inmates in the cafeteria rowdy. Rarely did they get a show as impressive as this one, and brawls tended to be quelled by the warden's guard staff pretty quickly. Longshot would get thrown into solitary confinement when they found out.

...Unless he was quick about covering it up. Spatula, realizing an opportunity, pushed away from his seat and loped to Longshot as fast as he could without looking intimidating. The archer had become a fan favorite very quickly with their peers, and the last thing Spatula needed was to get side-swiped by someone overeager to protect the Freedom Fighter.

Upon reaching Longshot, Spatula brought his mouth close to the Freedom Fighter's ear and whispered, "Quick, sit back down! You might be able to avoid gettin' punished if - "

Longshot placed his hands on Spatula's shoulders and pushed him away gently; instinctively, the Firebender expected his cellmate to be - annoyed, angry, the typical fare when he'd gone too far - but instead Longshot wore the ghost of a smile, his eyes crinkling in the corners. With a shake of the head so minute that it'd be imperceptible to anyone else in the room, the archer said - in that weird nonverbal way of his - that stopping now would be a mistake.

"A mistake?" Spatula asked, crooking his head to the side. "How? I've been in solitary before, and it's not fun."

Prison isn't supposed to be fun, the archer replied (or, something along those lines, it was still hard to tell what he said in exact words). He hiked one eyebrow, fixing Spatula with a challenging grin. This is a chance that they should at least _try_ to capitalize on.

"But it's crazy! The guards will come down on us like a sack of hammers!"

Shrugging, Longshot rolled his eyes as if to say, suit yourself. Turning away from Spatula, he ascended the gap on the bench left by the pair, then onto the table itself. He grabbed up whatever nearby utensils he could get in one scoop and held them at the ready, waiting, searching -

- and he threw a set, whizzing past Spatula's ear so narrowly that the Firebender swore he felt the tines of a fork scrape his skin. A muffled shout rolled out behind him, and the cook turned around to see that one of the guardsmen had managed to close in on him. A fork and a knife stuck out from the eyeholes in his facemask, sending the man careening into a moshpit of inmates, newborn and riled up and vicious. The roiling moshpit of orange and red jumpsuits swallowed the guard up, his screams absorbed by the frantic yelling of their peers.

So, this is what Longshot meant.

Spatula turned back to Longshot, but the archer kept his attention elsewhere, eyes flicking left, right, in all directions. More guards rushed into the room, and he picked off those he could with his stolen utensils; other inmates rushed in to take care of their captors as well, some using their utensils as makeshift weapons, others just going in with their fists and nothing else - and still others, a scant few, used Firebending, lighting up the cafeteria. Spatula figured you had to stick with what you knew.

It's time to get outta here. That's what Longshot was saying, and although nobody heard him, at this point he didn't really need to verbalize it, because most everyone seemed to understand it anyway. It worked to their favor. Chest tightening, Spatula saw light at the end of the tunnel - for the first time in a long time, felt hope washing over him like warm rays of sunlight. Freedom...out of this jail, unbound. For a second, he saw his older brother's face flicker in his mind - how he had wanted Spatula to escape, too, and how helpless he'd been to do anything about it, being a navy man. And then - his little brother, the younger sibling Spatula had never met before...okay. It was worth getting out if it meant getting to know the newcomer.

Being held accountable for the murder of your peers and the escape of several potential Earth Kingdom slaves didn't result in a slap on the wrists. If he didn't get out now, he'd be stuck here for life.

Okay, then. Okay. Clenching a fist, he nodded to himself and peered around, trying to steal out the nearest guard from the lot. He still wasn't all that great a Firebender, but at least he had muscle to his name. A klaxon began to shrill high overhead, and it wouldn't be long until they were overrun.

They'd have to move soon.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Before the Day of Black Sun_

Holy crap.

Okay, so - Pipsqueak had be the first to admit he wouldn't throw his weight behind the Boulder in a match where Xin Fu or the Gecko was involved. But that didn't change the fact that _the Freakin' Boulder_ worked beside him, bending the concrete the Freedom Fighter had mixed into a long, angled, flat tray framed with wood.

Yeah, Pipsqueak had walked away a little blue when Earth Rumble III ended with this man wearing the title belt and _not_ the Gecko, but the Boulder was still a celebrity.

And the weirdest part? Even though he moved with the same flair he showed in the ring, he didn't seem like such a spectacular guy, really. Striking up a conversation had been...well, _hard_. If you could believe it, anyway - the biggest, hardest-hitting Freedom Fighter, scared of nothing the Fire Nation could throw at him, lacking the courage to say something to a person with a little notoriety to their name.

And considering how well Pipsqueak got on with Aang, the _Avatar_, well...seemed extra silly then, didn't it?

Passing the stirring rod to The Duke, Pipsqueak turned away from the barrel of unused concrete to go pick up another bag of the mix. This was one of his father's personal recipes, a magic soup-sorta-deal that'd helped make a lotta the buildings in Omashu and Ba Sing Se, amongst other places. Having been in the construction business paid off, and Pipsqueak was glad to contribute something more than just his brawn to the war efforts. Hefting a leather satchel up from the pile and onto his shoulder, he turned, returned to the barrel, and loosened the drawstring before dumping it inside. A nearby Waterbender - a shorter fella wearing a loin cloth and with backswept, silvery hair (his name was Huu, if Pipsqueak remembered right) - pulled some water from a basin at his shins, mixing it into the barrel, which The Duke began to stir.

"The Boulder has to admit, kid, this is some pretty crazy stuff."

Pipsqueak felt his eyebrows hike up; turning, he saw the Boulder swinging his body back and forth, his arms splayed out in a fan-like position, pushing through the air with his elbows pointing outward. With each motion, the wet concrete in the tray smoothed itself a little more, glistening in the fading sunlight. The Earthbender's brow furrowed and his mouth curled into a frown so deep it cut into his goatee.

Chest tightening, Pipsqueak breathed a quiet, "Thanks."

"Heh. We all gotta do our part," the Boulder said, his frown flickering into a grin for just a split second before returning. "Gotta admit though, it's hard to hold onto this stuff. It's slick. Bending it's like...like trying to grab a fistfull of noodles."

"Probably because of the water," The Duke suggested, grunting with each turn of the slurry. "At least, that's what I'd figure."

Silence fell over the trio, and when the Boulder finished smoothing out the concrete tray, he raised it off the ground using a slab of solid earth beneath it, shifting it over to the next group of Benders, who would help it dry and add it to the Earthbender tanks being constructed. In moments like this, sometimes Pipsqueak's brain wandered off - he took over for The Duke when the slurry got too thick for him, stirring and stirring and stirring. He wondered what, exactly, Aang and Sokka and their group was up to now - where they were, what kinda goals they were achieving in the Fire Nation. Hopefully good stuff, you know...? And...well, he hoped they were safe. Without Aang, the Day of Black Sun would amount to _nothing_, and...

Shaking his head, Pipsqueak found his attention drawn back to the Boulder, who sat on a nearby bench while waiting for Pipsqueak and The Duke to finish, staring at the slurry barrel with a quirked eyebrow. Something strange about that man settled in the base of Pipsqueak's belly, but it wasn't uncomfortable or anything like that. Just...weird, was all. It was kinda outta the ordinary for a man like him to leave his profession and join a war...it made Pipsqueak wonder what, exactly, had caused him to change his mind.

Then again, it wasn't his business to ask. The slurry mixed, he withdrew the stirring rod, wiping stuck-on concrete against the barrel's rim before hefting it up and overturning it into a new, empty tray that had replaced the one before it. The Boulder clambered back up to his feet and continued working, and they never really spoke again until after the Invasion.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_26 days until Sozin's Comet_

Pipsqueak tore through corridors of the prison complex with the Boulder, Huu, and others of the invasion hot on his heels. Chest burning and breath like an inferno, the Freedom Fighter knew he wouldn't be able to keep this pace up for long; Jet had once compared him to a Fire Nation tank, sturdy and solid and immovable by others, but only if he went at his own pace. Testing his stamina like that would make him burn out.

Hopefully Longshot wasn't too far away.

Remembering his cowardice from before the Invasion, his hesitation to speak with the Boulder, he might have been able to help his friends sooner. The Boulder had obviously known about Longshot - from when, Pipsqueak didn't know - but he couldn't help but figure that maybe the information would have helped the Freedom Fighters or the invasion somehow.

His boots clomping across the metal floor, a quartet of guards skidded around a corner of the hall just ahead; one of them slapped the air, sending a wave of fire washing across the floor, but Pipsqueak leapt over it, tucking his legs in as far as he could, keeping his head ducked. He landed, threw out his left arm, and let his momentum carry him past the guards, clotheslining two of them as he passed by, their armor cold and sharp against his bicep. Couldn't tell if he'd broken the skin, but - well, he'd find out when it mattered. The Boulder dropkicked another of the guards and Huu belly-bumped the last of them, and when they rounded the corner the guards had emerged from, they found themselves at the edge of a wide-open, rust-colored room lined with tables and host to a tumultuous sea of inmate-uniform reds and oranges. It reminded Pipsqueak of the leaves in Hong Ye forest, in a twisted sorta way.

And - and - _yes!_ There, standing on a table nearby, clenching forks, knives and spoons in one hand, poised to throw them where necessary, stood Longshot - tall, skinny, his black hair tied back into that ponytail of his. His hat and weapons and usual Freedom Fighter gear were gone...but so were Pipsqueak's, and the two of them both seemed to be making out just fine.

The other inmates probably knew he was Earth Kingdom, but amongst those fighting, a _lot_ of fire came from their peers - Firebenders fighting against their own, helping the Earth Kingdom archer that'd had the stones big enough to end a fight. Pride surged through Pipsqueak and he felt his mouth prickling up into a wide, vicious grin, because busting some skulls to help his buddy felt like a _really_ good idea.

Pipsqueak barged through the closest cluster of guards trying to squeeze through a wall of inmates. While heavy, he had enough spring in him to vault over those trying to help Longshot, taking two of the guards with him as he soared, hauling 'em by their arms. He landed in a crouch and swung one of the guards around, throwing him into one of his buddies, sending both careening into the wall; glancing back in Longshot's way, he saw the archer hurl a fork at another guard, only for one more to leap up into the air behind him, fists glowing with flames -

- Longshot turned at the last moment, but the distance was so narrow that he couldn't defend himself in time -

- but before the armored Firebender could land and initiate an attack, a second guard crashed into him from the side, and both hit the ground _hard_, and Pipsqueak's eyes narrowed, his grin morphing into a victorious smirk. He clapped his hands, now empty, and Longshot turned his attention to him for the first time. 

"Good to see you're still alive, buddy," Pipsqueak said, and it was _so hard_ not to - laugh, cry, _something_ - because he felt like a dam ready to burst, emotion overflowing, because it was Longshot, it was really _him_, he was _alive_!

A wide, wild grin blossomed across Longshot's face (and there was something weird about that, about him expressing so openly, but it didn't register right away, didn't really _matter_, even), and he gestured to Pipsqueak, as if to move towards him - only for a bright, massive fireball to emerge from almost nowhere, heading right for Longshot's unguarded back -

"_Longshot, look out!_" Someone yelled, and - and before Pipsqueak could register properly, a tall, muscular man with pale skin and dark hair jumped up onto the tabletop, hands splayed out before him. He caught the fireball and pulled it into himself, right into his mouth; craning his neck back, he expelled a stream of fire straight upward, and Longshot turned around to cast him a quick, appreciative glance.

Pipsqueak _knew_ the fire-breather. He knew him because there'd only been one guy in his life who had shown the ability to do that, and for all intents and purposes, Smellerbee was supposed to've killed him. But considering he'd come here only to find Longshot alive and kicking, it shouldn't have been such a big surprise that Spatula was, too.

Un-freaking-believable, indeed.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot couldn't believe his eyes at first - but there stood Pipsqueak, tall and menacing and a gigantic hulk of a man, but his eyes twinkled like they'd always done, and just by looking at him the archer could tell he had submerged himself in his element. In a massive brawl like this one, Pipsqueak held the advantage over anyone who tried to gang up on him, but his stamina would only carry him so far if they didn't make any progress.

Grabbing Spatula's bicep to draw his attention, Longshot hooked a thumb at Pipsqueak and jerked his head; this was their chance to escape. The other inmates, if they wanted out bad enough, would be able to get out on their own accord; right now, the Freedom Fighters had an old adage to live up to, in that they would look out for each other because nobody else would.

"Wha - but I'm not really a Freedom Fighter anymore," Spatula said, eyes wide and bewildered, as if Longshot's comments had disarmed his wits.

Semantics - no time to argue the point. Unless he _wanted_ to stay locked up behind bars?

Spatula shook his head quickly and with astounding vigor, and murmured something that mostly fell beneath the carpet cacophony around them...but Longshot swore he picked up the words "life sentence." Still, the archer felt himself grinning. Good. Let's get going.

Longshot leapt upward, clearing inmates and guards alike, landing partway between himself and Pipsqueak; crouching down, he ran as quickly as he could through the throng of people, dodging blows meant mostly for others. At last, the crowd parted and he found himself face-to-chest with Pipsqueak, the larger man beaming.

"Look at'cha," he said, his baritone voice almost swallowed up by the din of shouting, of metal clashing against metal or flesh, of fire being ignited and launched into the air. He planted his massive, ham-sized hands on the archer's shoulders, and - and it had been so _long_! "You're like a whole different person! But I'm just glad to see you're doing okay."

Up and slinging the invisible bow and arrow as per usual, sticking it to the Fire Nation where he could. Longshot lowered one eyebrow. Was Pipsqueak ready to get out of this place?

"Well, it'd be a great idea," he admitted, "but there are a _lot_ of others here that I can't just abandon, you know? Aang recruited a lotta people to help him fight the Fire Nation - "

- wait. Aang? As in the Avatar, Aang? Longshot grabbed Pipsqueak's forearms. Isn't he dead? The Fire Nation killed him in Ba Sing Se.

"But they _didn't_, which is the weird part," Pipsqueak said, shaking his head and frowning. "He survived, and we dunno why the Fire Nation thought otherwise. Look, now's probably not the best time to explain - "

"The Boulder agrees with your friend," A harsh voice announced - and from behind Pipsqueak, a Fire Nation soldier got flung into the air, and The Boulder stepped into view, crossing his massive arms over his chest, fixing Longshot with a cocky gaze. "Talk later, escape now."

"I'd recommend falling back for now and returning with more help. If we escape, we can at least help the others from the outside - perhaps stage a more efficient escape plan." And from Pipsqueak's right, Huu walked into sight, his wild, gray hair looking as windswept as it had in the swamp, giving him that ever-present feel of eccentricity. Part of the archer wanted to know just _how_ Pipsqueak had come across the pair, but it was a curiosity that could be sated some other time.

Spatula appeared at Longshot's side, a shallow wound etched into his cheek, blood dripping down his pale skin. Was he okay?

"Yeah, fine, someone thought it was funny to imitate you and scratched me with a fork, is all." The Firebender shook his head. "No more putzing around, guys! Let's go!"

And they turned to leave -

- just as the world erupted in a familiar, ringing sensation, everything gone white and hollow, just like - just like when he'd been shot with the arrows, when fighting the Rough Rhinos.

And nothingness followed for the longest time.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Western Air Temple_

_20 days until Sozin's Comet_

It was a nice night out.

Sure, summer nights weren't always the best, especially when sleeping outside as The Duke had done for the past three-plus years. It got muggy out - the sticky, miserable kind that clung to your body and covered your skin with a layer of slimy sweat regardless of how much you wore to bed. And the bugs! The little jerks would squeeze in around the mosquito netting draped over the gaps in the tents. They'd buzz and waft and bite and crawl and ignore your attempts to drive them away all the while, and The Duke swore they did it out of spite. Living on the road with Pipsqueak hadn't been much better (sometimes their employers would put them up, sometimes they could afford a room in a ramshackle inn, but mostly they'd been sleeping outdoors), and traveling with Hakoda was just more of the same.

Here, though? Here it was different. Here it was cool without being chilly, here the bugs were few and polite, and even though _here_ was an alien place and none of his closest friends were with him, here was safe for now. Zuko and Sokka had gone on a fishing trip, but the rest of the group were mostly capable fighters, and unless Princess Azula herself came a'knockin' on the Western Air Temple's doors, there wasn't anything that could move the Avatar and his entourage from this place.

Aang needed the time to master Earth- and Firebending.

The Duke needed time to plan.

Smellerbee and Longshot were still alive out there, somewhere - and Pipsqueak was probably okay. The Duke wasn't the last Freedom Fighter anymore, and every time his old friends' faces floated up from his memory, he felt electrified, reinvigorated and all he needed to do was grasp at some sort of plan. The Duke had his new Freedom Fighters, and...

...and what?

The Duke sighed and laid back against the cool, smooth stone, his hands tucked behind his head, helmet laying on the ground beside him. At least the stars were pretty...he could still see them from here, mostly obscured by the edges of the canyon the temple had been built into, but a narrow strip of sky had carved through the gap. The stars were like glowing freckles, almost. He only really started paying attention to them after leaving Hong Ye; he wasn't sure _why_, but he suspected it gave him solace, comforted him in an up-ended life. With his confidence in Jet as fractured as the core had been, The Duke needed something immutable to rely on, something that would never go away.

With luck, anyway. Who knew what havoc the Fire Lord would wreak upon the planet? Maybe his heart and intent were blackened enough to chase even the stars away.

"Yo, The Duke."

Drawn from his reverie, the young Freedom Fighter craned his head back, caught off-guard - but he knew that voice, and even though he'd still get the jitters when talking to Toph, he'd gotten a lot better since they first met. She stood over him, her arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed. With the stone floor of the Western Air Temple cold and unyielding to The Duke's back, he wondered why, exactly, Toph was here; he wasn't near any of the usual hang-outs (Haru was on the prowl tonight too, and The Duke wanted as little to do with him as possible right now - he kept treating the Freedom Fighter like a kid), and this was quite a ways removed from the camp site...

"Hey," The Duke responded, pushing himself upright. "What's going on?"

"Couldn't sleep." Toph shrugged. "Mind if I join you?"

She couldn't sleep - so she came to him? Not to Aang, or Katara, or Teo, or That Other Guy, but _him_? His stomach did a little flip-flop, and he nodded - realized she probably couldn't perceive that - and mumbled, "Uh, sure."

The blind Earthbender plopped down on the ground next to The Duke, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her lap. "So."

"So."

A pause lofted between them, and The Duke's mind raced, trying to find something, _anything_, to talk about. Something with a bit of meat to it, something he could engage Toph with. Something like - like what? Like her time in the Earth Rumble circuit, that would be appropriate, or maybe about her skill, or, or -

"It's a nice night out," he blurted.

Darn it.

"Eh. I've had better." Toph shrugged and let a finger drift up to her nose, burying the tip inside and twisting it around. Nose-picking hadn't ever really been a turn-off for The Duke, but it was just a habit - nothing special about it, either. Except when _she_ did it, because, like throwing up in the helmet, because they were _her_ boogers, that made them important.

"The stars are really bright tonight," The Duke offered - sounded so feeble, but, but it was something, a step above the weather for certain -

Toph shrugged again. "When you haven't see stars once..."

Ah - of course, of course Toph wouldn't know about stars, you doofus! There had to be something else to latch onto, something more significant...but the scientific part in The Duke had been piqued, and this was a new tree to climb: explaining stars to a blind person, explaining beauty to _her_, to somebody equally as beautiful in their own right.

"Well...hmm." The Duke furrowed his brow and leaned back again, returning his gaze to the sky, because he could analyze better when his heart wasn't too busy choking him out. "They're like...a million points of light up in the air, so tiny that you feel like you could reach up and scoop a handful of them down to you."

"Huh?"

The Duke winced. "Like paint splattered on a canvas, all the little flecks...ah, no..."

Toph sighed and flopped down beside him, eyes sliding half-shut. "No offense, but you're not doing a very good job."

"Sorry."

"It takes a little bit of lateral thinking, I guess." Toph snorted - but when The Duke glanced over to her, he saw the shadows playing off her face just right. She was smirking. "It's something Sokka has trouble adjusting to. Do you know how many times I've made him double-take when I tell him I see something? He believes me for a split-second, but his reaction afterwards is what makes it comedy gold. Aang is _almost_ as gullible, though Katara seems to know what's up."

"Sounds like a pain in the butt."

"Not really." Toph crooked her head to the side. "I've grown up with this sort of stuff; you develop a thick skin. Besides, life is either a tragedy or a comedy, you know? If you don't laugh at the small stuff, then you risk leading a pretty miserable existence."

The Duke felt his breath leave him; Toph was right, of course, and he remembered that there was a time where he _could_ laugh at the small stuff, where he could take things in stride and not burden himself down so much. It was something Jet and Pipsqueak had taught him to do without really trying, after Momma had died and The Duke had become a regular fixture in the Freedom Fighters. That had been harder recently, but Toph had knocked things back into their proper perspective, and The Duke let a light giggle past his lips.

Silence settled between them once more, and The Duke took a slow breath - maybe if he kept calm, he'd be able to find something that _wasn't_ feeble, but his mind still wouldn't operate quite in the right way. Toph did that around him; she made his thoughts fuzzy and vague, and it wasn't entirely unpleasant, just...inopportune. He grunted and shifted his weight, sliding his arms out from behind his head; they'd fallen asleep, alight with pins and needles -

...wait!

"Needles."

"Muh?"

"Have you ever sensed somebody poking the ground with something incredibly narrow and sharp?"

"Would ant legs count?" Toph quirked her head and frowned. "I can feel small bugs crawling from a good ways away. Why?"

"That's what stars are like." The Duke beamed, a grin slicing straight from one ear to the next. This was the perfect metaphor! His pulse hammered and throat drew tight, he had found something that worked, found an accurate parallel, and he could save this conversation from floundering! "Thousands of ant footsteps in the sky."

Toph chuckled and smirked; with one hand, she reached up towards the sky and curled her fingers around it - as if to scoop the stars out, to feel them for herself. "That's a pretty vivid picture right there. Though a little on the creepy side...now all I can think of is ants covering the sky."

The Duke laughed again. "Yeah, it's pretty gross."

"Gross, but awesome."

"_Definitely._"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Hong Ye Forest_

_28 days until Sozin's Comet_

She'd been so wrapped up with the whole leadership thing that she'd forgotten how much she was _not_ a morning person.

Bleary-eyed and in dire need of a cup of tea, Smellerbee, swordswoman and current leader of the Freedom Fighters, watched over her faction of...children, yes, but also soldiers for the Earth Kingdom, recognized by no official government and supported by no official army. They gathered the last of their supplies: weapons, strips of jerky, hunting gear, and the black and maroon clothing they'd wear once they got near the occupied territories. The skin of the enemy.

A band of traveling warriors in Fire Nation territory would draw attention; a band of traveling Fire Nation nomads would be more subtle. Despite all the progress she like to have thought she'd made on the discrimination front, Smellerbee felt more than a little dirty by the concept of having to actually _wear_ the stuff. Necessity was a pain in the ass. That'd been their lot in life, really.

A fine mist had settled across the ground of the forest, partially obscuring what supplies laid on the ground in white fog. Surestance and Fletcher croaked and whinnied in callous objection to the weather as well, a small, out-of-season chill whispering by, brushing tendrils across Smellerbee's cheeks and making her shiver. Between Ba Sing Se and Omashu, she and Longshot had discarded most of the stuff that had come with the ostrich horses upon their hijacking, losing armor and unnecessary flair for increased speed. Now, though, the last of their original gear had been discarded save the saddles; the final piece had been a green blanket with the Earth Kingdom symbol on both ends that draped over the beasts' wings, and nothing would be more conspicuous than that. A wooden wagon had been harnessed to both, the bed partially filled with supplies; finding and stealing enough ostrich horses for all the Freedom Fighters on the journey would be impossible, so the trip would mostly be made on foot.

Sneers appeared beside her, his squat face set into an expression of grim determination. "Are you ready for this?"

"...Yeah," She murmured. "For Longshot, I'd go to the ends of the earth and back."

"Even though it means you might lose more of the children?"

Smellerbee lowered her gaze to the ground and frowned. "I wish I could keep that from happening, but...I'll do everything I can to get us all out alive. Besides, Jet's counting on me to see the Freedom Fighters through the end of it."

"Stinkbug - don't take this the wrong way, but..." Sneers crossed his arms over his chest and snorted, keeping his gaze on those accompanying them as well. "It's not just your issue. He wouldn't have wanted the burden foisted exclusively on you. I think we're _all_ supposed to secure a future for us. _'Watch out for each other because nobody else will.'_ That's been in the Creed from the start, right?"

She felt her lips quirking into a quiet, reserved smirk. "Thanks, Crankypants."

"It's like a crazy bitch once told me - some burdens are easier to bear with someone else to lend you their shoulders."

Smellerbee snorted and punched Sneers on the bicep, only with enough force to give him a nice black and blue later. He rubbed the spot absent-mindedly, hiking his eyebrows.

"You know," Smellerbee murmured, "I saw you wander off with Skillet twenty minutes ago. Did you know that your topknot's come a little loose?"

"Wh-what?" Sneers asked, and even from the corner of her vision the swordswoman saw his cheeks flush with crimson. She chuckled as he reached up to tighten his hair, but she wasn't _near_ done with him.

"Not just that. Your tunic's on inside-out, and your armor isn't fastened." She crouched down low and grinned, delighting in the torturous evil she was having at his expense. "Sneers, I never knew you could woo a woman - but I guess Skillet's the only one who has the tolerance for that thick skull'a yours."

"I should _destroy_ you," he hissed, clenching his teeth. Smellerbee's grin only became wider and more vicious.

"Yeah, you have fun with that, you lady-killer."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_The Boiling Rock_

_17 days until Sozin's Comet_

Sitting in a chair atop a guard tower, her hands folded primly in her lap (_always the proper trophy daughter, even in prison_), Mai cast a bitter, murky frown to the sky above and waited for the older man sitting across from her to make the first move. Her uncle, the warden, hunched up on himself - so tough, he was, but right now he looked more like a fretting old lady.

Azula _scared_ him. But she did _not _scare Mai.

Mai didn't like prison very much, but to be honest, there had been worse places she'd been caged up in. Like Omashu. Ugh. That place was just a mess of red tape, a political nightmare - though at least those two Earth Kingdom renegades had shown her a good time during her last visit. She'd have to thank them for that if she ever got out of here, because -

- because she was a traitor now. Just like Zuko, who had turned his back on the Fire Nation for the _good_ of the Fire Nation, only it was much more personal for Mai than it had been for him. Directly betraying Azula so Zuko could escape the Boiling Rock with that Water Tribe kid and a handful of other prisoners.

It didn't bother her that much, because she knew she'd done the right thing. Azula be damned, Zuko meant more to her even post-break-up than her lightning-throwing, schizoid friend. She just hated the fact that she'd be wasting away inside this damn cell for...well, a long time. If the war ended in the Earth Kingdom's favor, then it would be sooner rather than later; if not, if Sozin's Comet came and Azula and Fire Lord Ozai sat victorious over the rest of the world, Mai could expect to never see the light of day again unless she broke out herself.

And a life on the lam didn't really appeal to her any more than a life as a prisoner.

Choices.

Of course, as long as her uncle was the warden at the Boiling Rock (a precarious, strenuous position that he might not hold for much longer, especially after threatening Azula's life to keep the prisoners from escaping), staying here wasn't going to be all _that_ bad in the long run...she got to keep her robes, and her parents would be sending her a wealth of possessions and amnesties that other prisoners weren't allowed. She'd get to eat _real_ food instead of the typical slop doled out to the inmates. She didn't have to wear one of those stuffy, starched, ragged prisoner uniforms, and...okay, so she didn't even actually have to _stay_ in a cell unless Azula happened to stop by to see how well her former friend was "rotting."

It was a fancy house-arrest, where the house was massive, home to a thousand guests with poor hygiene, and surrounded by a moat of boiling water.

Mai sighed, tilting her head back, soaking in the wash of brilliant, glittering stars overhead. Before today - before, she would have at least thanked the Spirits for sending Ty Lee to Pan Xing Island. That prison had less security, but it was still a remarkable stronghold for Fire Nation criminals. But - even if Ty Lee was _obnoxious_ in her cheerful disposition - she would have been company, she would have been a peer (because there weren't many teenaged Fire Nation girls here aside from Mai), and...and she kind of owed the acrobat. She'd stood up against Azula too, after all - disabling her, blocking her chi before she could hurt Mai.

If Azula treated them like they were disposable, then they clearly had more to gain by banding together and toughing it out.

"Look," Mai said, keeping her voice low as she cast out a hand in disinterest. "Azula won't have time to come back by the end of the war. Sozin's Comet is coming in a little more than two weeks. The Fire Lord will probably leave her in charge of the Fire Nation while _he_ goes out to cleanse the earth."

"I...yes," Mai's uncle murmured, nodding his head almost submissively. Mai turned her attention back to him - he was muscular, had tanned skin, but his age had begun to show, lines running telltale traces across his face. "That's true."

"She'll be so busy that taking the time out to come here will be impossible for her." Mai crooked her head to the side. "I've already made up my mind, Uncle. By turning on Azula, I chose to stand beside Zuko - which means I have to help end this war in a way that works for the entire world."

Her uncle hung his head, his hands folded between his knees, and...and he just looked _miserable_, his perfect no-escapees record shattered by Zuko and his friends and then being forced to face that _and_ imprison his 'precious niece.' But Mai had to stand by her convictions, especially now; if she didn't do anything after what she'd done for Zuko, the risk she'd taken would lose its meaning. "Look, if we - if the Fire Nation wins, I _promise_ I'll return by the eve following the comet's departure. Either way, Azula will either be up to her neck in politics, or she'll be taking my place here."

"Just...this would be treason," he said, his voice leaden and quiet. "Why would you...why should _I_...?"

"What I do is my own business," Mai said. "You don't have to do anything more than turn the other way when I sneak out on the supply ship tomorrow. I can handle the rest."

"..." He shook his head and snorted, a feeble laugh that almost made Mai feel bad for the man. Almost. "Fine. I'll pull some strings. Just promise me you'll be careful, okay?"

Mai narrowed her eyes. "I promise."


	4. Chapter 4, Part 1

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 7: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 4: Spatula Finale, Part 1: It's red versus red, and blue versus blue, it's I against I and me against you...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-7-4-160741609

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_Twenty-five days until Sozin's Comet_

The door to his cell squealed open, and Longshot shuffled inside, his eyelids heavier than stones. Okay, so maybe he hadn't cut Spatula enough slack. Solitary really _hadn't_ been fun. Locked away in a cold, dark room, complete sensory deprivation...it had been worth it, though.

He didn't flinch when the guards slammed the door shut unnecessarily hard, and felt no shame when they laughed at him, taunting the mighty Longshot the Hawkeye for failing to lead a jailbreak. That was alright, though. It brought him and the others closer to freedom than they'd been in recent history, and it served as a lesson on how to go about it the right way next time.

_Freedom_. Yeah, that word - he'd battled tooth and nail for it. He guessed he still _was_ a Freedom Fighter after all, and despite his exhaustion, he smirked. It felt like being complete, because at least he'd managed to do some good here instead of just letting himself rot.

The noise was enough to jar Spatula out of his sleep; the Firebender jerked into a sitting position from his cot, and even in the dim light Longshot could sense bewilderment in his eyes at first, glancing around, panicking - and then he saw the archer and came about his senses. Shaking his head, Spatula pushed up to his feet and crossed the threshold, grabbing Longshot by the shoulders.

"Hey, they finally let you out," he whispered, eyebrows hiked with concern. "Are you okay? I haven't seen you since this afternoon."

Longshot felt his eyes slide shut as he nodded, shrugging. Aside from the fact that parts of him hurt that he didn't know he'd had a few hours ago and the throbbing ache in his temples, yeah, he was okay. Spatula led the archer to his bunk, where he sat down with a low, barely audible grunt. Looking up at the Firebender with his so-tired eyes (dry enough that they felt like they could fall right out of the sockets), he offered his thanks one more time; Spatula hadn't had to cover Longshot's back in that fight, especially since combat wasn't his strength.

"Hey, you said it yourself," the cook said, quirking his head and grinning. "It was an opportunity we had to take. Doesn't matter if it didn't work out or not; I could get rid of the fire, and you couldn't. Er, no offense."

Longshot shook his head and let a phantasmal grin light across his mouth. That was okay. Facts were facts, right? Besides - he was too tired to really worry about the red tape of the whole thing. He just wanted to lie down and sleep.

Spatula nodded and backed off a few steps, letting Longshot swing his legs up onto the cot. The archer flopped backwards, sighed, and stared up at the bulls-eye painted on the ceiling. Frowning, he wondered what had happened to the others - Pipsqueak in particular, but The Boulder and Huu concerned him also...not to mention the other inmates that had been eager to take a piece out of their jailers' hides, however minimal that was (it was silly to assume they stood beside the archer out of any reason beyond personal gain).

"You and that wannabe Yuu Yan were the only two actually punished," Spatula explained, crossing over to his own cot on the opposite side of the room and sitting down on it. "The guards set off a few tear gas bombs in the room, which is what knocked everyone silly; afterwards, they tossed us all back into our cells and they've been letting us rattle our cages since. I think that we did a number on the cafeteria 'cause they had to bring dinner right to us."

Well, any progress was progress.

Spatula laughed and nodded, but the pair fell into a muted silence after. As Longshot began to doze, he heard Spatula speak up one more time; opening his eyes partway, the archer cast his gaze to the Firebender, who himself laid back on his own cot.

"Longshot...d'you think I could rejoin the Freedom Fighters? Do you think Jet would let me back in?"

...

Drawing a deep breath that cast him further into the waiting abyss of sleep, Longshot tried to think of the most straightforward thing to say that wouldn't get the Firebender bent out of shape (because doing that would bum him out and make him whine and, well, a whining Spatula meant a sleepless Longshot). Picking his thoughts carefully, he sifted his ideas (the good ones went in one invisible pile, while the obviously bad ones and the questionable ones where drowsiness hindered his judgment went into another) and finally came up with a suitable way to put it.

It wasn't really Jet's call to make anymore. It wasn't exclusively up to Longshot, either, but if it had been - then, yeah. Yeah, Spatula could come back. He'd earned his stripes.

"Thanks," Spatula murmured, he himself sounding ready to dive into the sandman's maw. And that was the last thing Longshot knew until the next morning.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

_Three years ago_

"Well..."

Smellerbee made sure her gaze remained prudent. Prying too much, looking too intent on either dispelling or approving Sheng would just make Jet suspicious, and - and she couldn't have that, regardless of the outcome. She would get in trouble if he was outed as a Firebender because the timing was too convenient, and the last thing she wanted was to become an outcast. The Freedom Fighters were her life, after all.

At last, Jet craned his head back, eyes sharp and resting on Sheng's face. His lips quirked up into that trademarked, crooked grin of his. "I don't see why not, Bee. I mean, he helped you, right? Anybody willing to save a Freedom Fighter is welcome here."

"Are - are you sure?" Smellerbee asked, throwing an arm out in Sheng's direction. One last time, he wouldn't read too much into it, would it? She didn't want to tip the scales, but to be honest the Firebender drove her _insane_. He was obnoxious even without taking his blood into account and she'd rather have him cast out on his own merits. (Why had she even agreed to bring him here, if he was that insufferable?) "Don'tcha think we should, you know, interview him or something?"

Jet shrugged, the white robes he wore appearing more as if they had been just draped over his shoulders. It couldn't be more obvious he had been hit pretty hard (in the same battle she was taken prisoner, no less) and still remained on the mend. The bandages wrapped around his temples caused his hair to hang down over it like the leaves of a pineapple. "Why? We never interview anyone else willing to join - or anyone we save, for that matter. Besides, we could use another cook around; Skillet's starting to run herself ragged trying to keep up with everyone."

"I - " Smellerbee held up a hand to the shaggy-headed boy before withdrawing it, pursing her lips. Well, that was it then, wasn't it? "Sure. Sounds good."

Jet closed his eyes and drew a slow breath through his nose; the motion made him look a little frail, and maybe it was for that reason that he didn't find Smellerbee's protests out of place. "Okay, then. Now Li - joining the Freedom Fighters means getting a fresh start, and a fresh start means a new name. So...from now on, you're going to be called Spatula, okay?"

Smellerbee saw Sheng's - now Spatula's - cheeks flush red, but he gave a swift, powerful nod, a grin dominating his face. "S-sure thing, Jet. It's a great name. I love it. Thank you for letting me join."

Ugh. What a cornball.

"We're glad to have you," Jet responded, chuckling and shaking his head. "Bee, do you think you can show him around?"

"Sure." She felt her eyes drawn to her leader in earnest now; he looked a little thin under his robes, and the shadows under his eyes couldn't'a been more apparent. Longshot had said on their trip home that Jet was fighting off infection from his wounds and had been comatose…but how long he stayed that way, Smellerbee still didn't know, 'cause she hadn't gotten the chance to talk to Sneers or Pipsqueak yet.

Spatula wouldn't be able to see it, because he was too nervous about the whole meeting - and probably too giddy for being accepted into the Freedom Fighters - but Smellerbee could tell that even this personal assembly in Jet's quarters between just the three of them had drained the poor guy. Seeing someone as passionate, as brilliant as Jet looking so feeble and anemic and, just, well, tired…it didn't feel right. Not at all. Jet was too firmly planted in reality; he was supposed to be…you know, _impervious_. That was the right word for it. But she couldn't say anything to him about it, because verbalizing his weakness would give it power. Leaving it silent…keeping it unsaid…it was A Longshot Thing. It would help Jet bounce back and keep Smellerbee from worrying about it.

She turned and led Spatula away from Jet's mattress, to the entrance of his hut - and stopped, when his voice (deep and calm and rooted) reached out to her from the depths of inky shadow in which he sat.

"Bee?"

She glanced back over her shoulder at him and felt heat rising up into her face. Did he - did he figure out she'd been thinking about the infection? "Yeah, Jet?"

Even though light didn't reach the far end of Jet's hut, his teeth shone through the umbra as he smiled out at her. "I'm glad you're alright."

And, despite herself, she smiled back and said, "Back atcha."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

There was something odd about the new Freedom Fighter.

Sneers, ever the realist, didn't like - well, a _lot_ of things about him, really. Observing Spatula from afar - his posture, so withdrawn, so nervous, like he had something to hide. The way he always stuttered, or over-talked to others (though he could just be naturally obnoxious), it all led to some vague sense of secrecy. Sneers had no proof of anything, but...call it an investigative hunch. Either the guy was a terrible actor, or he was a natural schmuck.

In situations like this, though, prudent silence was wisest. Jet favored the kid (okay, so he was probably the same age as Sneers, but he had an irrefutable, childlike glimmer in his eyes that shone even at the distances the monk had kept), and Smellerbee might have some sort of attachment to him even though it looked like she wanted as little to do with him as possible. Not to mention Skillet, Pipsqueak and the rest of the Freedom Fighters had so far been amiable with Spatula - which only left Longshot, who was a mystery in and of himself, maintaining equidistant to the new cook as Sneers.

It'd be a hell of a thing of Longshot was Sneers' only ally in uncovering the skeletons Spatula kept secreted away. But - no, right now just sit back and observe things.

Twilight had cast its lithe, lavender fingers over the sky, freckling through the crimson canopy overhead. Insects thrummed and flitted around the torches erected around the dining platform, filling the cooling air with their chirruping music. Sitting near the head of the table, Sneers worked his way through a split, roasted sweet potato and a salad. It'd be a start, until the second course - the meaty part, the part that mattered - came through and made the rounds. It wouldn't be long now before Jet made his speech - because he always did on a Freedom Fighter's first night. The teen loved to make flashy impressions.

Jet sat at the head of the table, of course, his normal gear replaced by those off-white robes. Smellerbee and Longshot sat to his right, while Sneers and Pipsqueak to the left; Pipsqueak's pet hog monkey, The Duke, took up the seat on the other side of the behemoth, his round, cherubic face stained with potato crumbs and glistening with butter.

The Duke never got properly initiated, because Jet had been too ill with infection to eat at the head table, so tonight would be like swallowing a bitter pill twice the size of a normal one. Sneers didn't care for either new recruit, even though The Duke would be on his way home in a day or two.

Mph. Just sit back and let fate deal its hand. Getting cranky over anything would only make it harder to deal with.

Amidst the clatter of flatware on plates and the roiling sound of the Freedom Fighters chattering, Sneers cast a glance over to their leader. He looked - better, really, even from this morning. It was amazing how much difference taking a nap had done for him, between Smellerbee and Longshot's return and now. Once he got a hot meal in his belly, he'd probably be ready to roll again.

Sneers normally would have lamented the loss of his status as leader, but that would have been shallow in the face of knowing his allies had all managed to survive the events of that ill-fated mission days ago. He figured as long as he didn't let thoughts of that nature become habit-forming, he was alright.

When Jet realized Sneers had been staring at him, the older teen caught the monk's gaze and smirked before gradually unfurling himself from his seat. Silence fell over the Freedom Fighters as their leader rose to his full height, clutching a tea cup in hand, his wheat stalk bobbing appreciatively. (A tea cup filled with actual tea - Skillet, always the nagging maternal one, refused to let him drink any sake (or anything else with alcohol) while he was still weakened, much to Jet's ire and Sneers' amusement.) Holding the cup over his head, Jet paused, allowing for the appropriate amount of tension to build up - and, while Sneers felt himself obtuse to such things, he could still feel it culminating from all sides. Jet had charisma, that much was an undeniable truth.

"It's not every day we get to welcome a new Freedom Fighter into our ranks," Jet began, his voice soothing and commanding at the same time, already weaving the inspiring tale that would captivate his audience. Sneers simply leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, smirking. "There aren't many requirements when we look for new members, as all of you know; as long as they're willing to stand up against the Fire Nation with us, then that's enough for us. But any added bonuses certainly help, right?"

Sneers cheered alongside the rest of the Freedom Fighters, a short, vociferous agreement, because - okay, immune to Jet's charm or not, the monk still felt a level of camaraderie with the rest. Jet's mentality had a pure, righteous logic to it.

"Tonight we have the unique honor of inducting not one, but _two_ new Freedom Fighters, both of whom have made exemplary impacts on the team. The Duke, stolen away from his village by the Fire Nation - "

A chorus of jeers rose up, the Freedom Fighters booing and hissing their natural enemies. Jet waited for silence to fall again before continuing.

"While he still has a home to go back to, The Duke has shown remarkable combat potential in the short time he's been here." Jet hiked an eyebrow. "With myself debilitated, his presence helped Sneers immensely, and he will always be welcome as one of us.

"Meanwhile, Spatula, a regular guy, showed some real chops in saving one of our own from the clutches of the Fire Nation." Jet nodded, adjusting the direction in which he held his cup - pointing it instead at Spatula, who sat further down the table, his paste-colored face alight with a brilliant flush. Sneers turned away from him, glanced over at Smellerbee - who hunched her shoulders and shrunk away from Jet a little bit, she herself blushing as well. The monk felt his smirk widening, because he knew, he _knew_, she was mortified by the rescue, for one reason or another (if not because of Spatula's bumbling nature alone). Sneers filed that one away into his mental cabinet of things he used to antagonize the girl with.

"It is thanks to Spatula that Smellerbee is back with us today, and that our initial mission of foiling Fire Nation slavers met success. Starting tomorrow, he will be joining Skillet as a cook, to help provide us with more meals!"

This earned another, more vocal cheer - because, more food was a _good_ thing, especially when actually receiving meals was never guaranteed.

That did nothing to lighten Sneers' suspicions, though, and as Jet continued his speech, the monk narrowed his eyes, his gaze shifting to the tabletop and his unfinished sweet potato. If he planned on outing Spatula somehow, he'd not only have to be discrete, but he'd have to plan several steps ahead. Because if it turned out the cook really didn't have anything worth uncovering, the last thing Sneers wanted to do was make waves...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Longshot did not cheer or boo when the other Freedom Fighters did during Jet's speeches. That was alright, though, because everyone sorta understood the not-speaking thing, and all Longshot needed to do was raise his glass, or pump a fist into the air, and that was enough to serve him.

A long time ago - before the Freedom Fighters, before Jet and the incident with the apples - Longshot remembered being taught etiquette lessons. His family had been in that ambiguous zone between middle and high class, and his mother was the ambitious sort who got what she wanted through trickery and deception. Longshot never judged her wrongly for it; at the time, it was because he had been too young to know any better, but with age also came the realization that she did so in order to improve _his_ life, and those of his siblings. She hadn't been a bad person, either (she had been a caring, beautiful woman, a true 'mom' and not a stuffy 'mother')...but those stood beside the point, tangential to what he was really trying to think of.

In learning etiquette, most of it had been high-class society stuff...the intent had been to cast a good impression, but in learning the contemporary uses, he first had to do independent research on more traditional things. One of the most interesting ones, something he had learned with one of his sisters, was the concept behind the shared meal - how, dating far back to ancient times, even before the age of the Avatar, inviting guests to share a meal with you was a sign of respect for both parties. How the hosts would treat the guests with utmost respect, and how the guests would return the gesture in kind. How the Spirits frowned on those who broke the unspoken honor-pact and punished them.

The last bit had made a fun spook-story to weave at the time, but the overall concept had fascinated a younger Longshot, and it was for that reason why he persuaded Jet to induct new members at dinnertime. The way Jet performed didn't make the whole thing seem like a high-class etiquette thing, because he would (normally) stand on top of the table while delivering his speech, and he could get rowdy, and he would call for Chameleon to lend his talents on occasion, and he could get crass and rude, but the meaning would still be there. It thrilled the archer. He absolutely loved it, every time.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Weeks later_

"I have to admit, for a person of mysterious origin, you sure have one hell of a way about your food." Skillet leaned back against the wooden counter of her kitchen (_her_ kitchen, it made her almost want to swoon every time she thought of it), crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Spatula sauté..._some_ kind of meat-and-vegetable combo. He used a wide, black tray coated in sizzling vegetable oil, a massive orange flame stoked underneath; and though he kept his namesake spatula nearby, he looked more intent on coating this new concoction with spices and peppers.

"Thanks," Spatch returned, grinning - but not taking his eyes off the tray. He reached for a wooden shelf nearby (on the wooden counter against the wood walls...everything in this place was made of wood, but they didn't have any better materials to work with, so they always needed to be careful with the cooking fires) and pulled a small shaker of a pepper he called cayenne from its cradle. Sprinkling the cayenne pepper over the tray's contents, he said, "This is a special recipe I learned when I was a kid, and I'd like to serve it sometime - but I need a guinea pig. Are you game to try one of my awesome Kabal skewers?"

"Just how spicy are we looking at this time?" Skillet asked, and she felt her mouth quirking into a smirk that would have made Sneers proud. "You know we don't have high tolerance for that stuff. You must have learned to cook from a Firebender."

Spatula's brow furrowed, and a blush highlighted his pale cheeks. "I, uh - possibly. I come from - from near some Fire Nation colonies to the west."

Skillet's grin fell into a thoughtful frown, and she hiked an eyebrow. Really, now...? This wasn't the first time she'd heard something of this sort from a Freedom Fighter, but it was the first tidbit of personal history Spatula had shared with probably anybody. She had to wonder how much anyone else in the Freedom Fighters had gotten out of this shy, clumsy cook who only seemed to shine in the kitchen.

"Still, I - I learned from last time, no more food hot enough to make the younger ones sick." Spatula winced. "Sneers really laid into me for that...he kinda hounds me sometimes when nobody else is around. So I've toned down the spiciness...but a Kabal skewer with watery spices isn't really a Kabal skewer, you know?"

Skillet sighed. She knew all about Sneers and what he thought about Spatula; try as he could, the monk relied on Skillet as an intellectual peer, and she'd managed to coax _some_ details out of him. Sneers really had vague speculations, but nothing else to his name, and if wind of Spatula's home got out to him -

"So, you're from near the Fire Nation colonies, you say?"

Oh, _ostrich horse shit_.

Skillet sighed and buried her face in her palm. Spatula emitted a tiny _eep!_ sound, dropping the cayenne shaker. It clattered to the ground and from around the curve of her hand Skillet saw its cap pop off and the contents spill across the floor.

Sneers took a few steps in, his footfalls heavy and rooted and unique because of his squat stature. Skillet could just imagine the steel behind his gaze, his lips curling downward into his namesake sneer, his teeth bared.

"Y-yeah, I am," Spatula replied, and Skillet heard enough defiance in him (despite his stammer) to make her pull her hand away, to - to see exactly what was going on in the fool's head. He'd grabbed up his spatula and clenched it tightly in front of his chest, his lips pressed into a tight line. His Kabal skewers sizzled on the tray behind him, and the delectable scent of spiced meat wafted through the air. It clashed with the tension between the cook and the monk, neither of whom looked ready to back down. "Freedom F-Fighters come from all over, right?"

"Of course," Sneers responded, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "And you wouldn't be the first we've had from that way. I just find it interesting that this is the first fact about your past to crop up. That's all."

"Sneers, lay off him." Skillet rolled her eyes and planted her fists on her hips. "He's _my _cook. If you wanna harass him, you'll have to do it somewhere else."

"No, that's okay." Spatula's voice wavered, but he didn't stammer this time, and he sounded more steeled than before. Skillet raised her eyebrows at him, and she pushed back the urge to clean out her ears to make sure she'd heard him right. "I'd rather it be here than anywhere else. I'm more confident of myself in the kitchen. It's obvious by the way that you glare at me that you don't trust me, Sneers."

The monk's frown melted into a scowl, and a burbling sensation of pride started to well up in Skillet's stomach. Damn - put a spatula in the kid's hand and he became more competent on all fronts, apparently. Skillet's cheeks tingled, and as hard as she tried not to, she felt her mouth curling into a small, crescent grin.

"But you know what, I'm fine with that," the cook continued, determination setting in on his face. "I never sought your approval in the first place. I'm feeding children that have suffered from the war and if you have a problem with that, then it says more about you than it does me."

Turning away, Spatula continued to prepare his dish, leaving Sneers to glower at his back. The tension in the air had vanished with Spatula absorbed once again in his work, nudging the balls of meat over with the corner of his spatula, flipping the vegetables. Skillet quirked an eyebrow and shook her head, chuckling silently.

"Oh, and Sneers - you're welcome to help taste test my Kabal skewers if you want."

The offer - sincere to Skillet's ears, if not a little aloof - made Sneers step back a pace, as if revolted. "Uh - no thanks." He turned and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Skillet and Spatula alone again.

Skillet finally let the urge to grin overtake her, and beaming, she clapped Skillet hard on the back. "Way to go. It takes stones standing up to Sneers." Saying she expected no less from her cooking staff of one would be a lie (really, it wasn't part of his job to do it, but it was nice having somebody on the clock who could), but the pride bursting in her chest felt identical to that of experiencing a student who had grasped a difficult subject and managed to best it.

"Thanks, but I gotta check to make sure I didn't pee my pants."

Skillet threw her head back and laughed.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Weeks later_

Oofa.

Pipsqueak rotated his left shoulder, wincing at the soreness that flared up with every peak. Bad enough that the trip to The Duke's hometown, Ying Hua, had ended so morosely that despite their best intentions, The Duke was now a permanent fixture to the Freedom Fighters; worse that he'd really messed up his arm cutting himself _another_ new log, after his replacement following the slave line mission got busted up against a renegade platypus bear. Weird that making the new weapon was what hurt him and _not_ aforementioned platypus bear. (He could still remember the way his muscles..._screltched_, that was the only way to really describe it, when he brought the axe up for that first swing.) But who was he to count when stuff like that cropped up? Besides, it was a hot day - summer'd set in, full force, and the lake would be nice and cool. His body felt gross and sticky and stuffy, so it'd be a good place to rest up for a bit.

Yeah. Even though it'd been a few days, the events from Ying Hua still bothered him a bit. Whenever he relaxed in the lake, the stress that built up in his head from that day's events would float out and away from the giant, and he'd be able to just soak in his surroundings without having to worry about much else.

As Pipsqueak walked along the path to the lake, trees on either side, he became partially aware of - voices, from ahead, but that wasn't outta the ordinary. It wasn't like the Freedom Fighters had a schedule for using the lake, so more than one person winding up there at a time happened pretty often. (For that very reason, amongst the first things Pipsqueak had learned to discard from his old lifestyle was shame, since entering or escaping the lake nekkid and unseen was pretty much impossible.) So swallowed by his thoughts, he didn't really make any effort to identify whose voices they were - until a shrill, alarmed screech rose up into the air.

Pipsqueak's eyes went wide, and he was running before he could actually register. Each footstep thundered across the dirt path - he was sure to leap over that one tree root that always crawled, wormlike, across the path - and he pulled that last corner, his heart thundering, his pulse roaring behind his ears, his breath short and hot and -

- Spatula stumbled into view, one arm thrown up over his head, and a knife whizzed through the air after him, missing his shin by inches. The blade lodged itself into a tree trunk, and Spatula barged past Pipsqueak, barely giving him a second glance. He shouted behind him, "_Run for the hills! She's crazy!_" before vanishing into the trees.

Pipsqueak shook his head, turning his attention forward again - just in time to see Smellerbee slide into sight with a towel wrapped around her torso, her bare feet scraping against the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust. Her skin glistened from having recently emerged from the water, and her hair clung tightly to her head. Even her face paint and mascara had been wiped away, which in its own was a pretty rare sight. Shoulders bunched, her hackles raised, she clenched her fists and yelled, "_Damn right I'm crazy, now get the __hell__ outta here!_"

The behemoth Freedom Fighter blinked, hiking his eyebrows at his friend. "Uh, Smellerbee...you okay?"

"_Yes_, I'm fine," she huffed. Still, it took her a moment to regain her composure, and she shook out her lanky arms, cracking her neck. "He caught me by surprise is all."

"I don't get it, though," Pipsqueak murmured, walking over to the knife and pulling it free from the trunk Smellerbee'd hucked it into. He offered it over to the girl, who took it without looking at the giant. "You ain't shy. I can't think of any other Freedom Fighters that _ain't_ seen you in the buff."

"It's _different_ with him." Snarling, Smellerbee stalked back towards the lake, and Pipsqueak followed (because he still needed to clean himself up, after all). Something about the way she said it, though...kinda weird, something he couldn't quite place -

Oh! Pipsqueak felt himself beaming, and he clapped a hand on Smellerbee's bare shoulder. His chest tingled with pride and he said, "I get it now! You like him, don'tcha?"

"I - what?" Sputtering, Smellerbee blinked and twisted her head up to meet the giant's gaze, her eyes wide and lips curled. "No. No no no. You're absolutely insane. I do _not_ have a crush on Spatula."

"You know, they say denial is one of the signs...or something like that, I dunno how it goes. Sneers would." Despite himself, his grin became devious. They stopped at the shore of the lake, where Pipsqueak shucked off his vest, draping it over a low-hanging branch, next to Smellerbee's pants and tunic. "I'll ask him later."

"No, trust me." Smellerbee shook her head and frowned. "It's not denial. I did not, cannot and will not _ever_ have a thing for that - that - _schmuck._" She waded back into the water, the surface eating up her feet, her shins, her knees, shimmering black and yellow from this angle. "Count on that."

Pipsqueak just felt his grin widening.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Weeks later_

The Duke - because that was his name now, he'd left Dian far behind him - scoured over the book laid out before him, the characters etched onto the parchment in pristine, neat, tiny calligraphy. Just columns of columns of text, and that was - okay, because it helped him keep his mind off his past, off Ying Hua, off the Momma that was no longer a part of his life. Lying flat on his stomach on one of the platforms that made up the tree house headquarters, The Duke found himself alone, absorbed by silence.

Knowing that he was a Freedom Fighter for good, The Duke dedicated himself more readily to the lifestyle. He took pike lessons from Spike, learned how to use his size to his advantage from Sneers, and thanks to an inadvertent accident on Spatula's part, found a way to utilize exploding seeds as part of his developing fighting style. He aided the watches and patrols, he slept in Pipsqueak's tent, he reluctantly learned to bathe in front of others. He studied, _hard_, learning history, math, even basic chemistry and biology, absorbing every new big word and working it over and over in his head until it glimmered like a flawless pearl.

Skillet, in particular, took keen interest in The Duke's progress on that front. She never verbalized anything, but The Duke could see the way her eyes gleamed in class, the way a phantasmal smile crossed her lips whenever she looked at him. It didn't unnerve him or anything, but it'd still be nice to figure out what was going on in her head.

This particular book - all the books he owned now, really - came from Old Man Chang. He'd called them a parting gift, and the inflection that they would never see each other again - that The Duke would never get another opportunity to read one of Chang's tomes aloud to his friend - had gone unsaid. But the strength, the passion behind that nonverbal sentiment, had been almost permeable (he loved that word) and The Duke's voice got thick whenever he thought about that moment.

Dang. His eyes began to sting - his vision got blurry and he bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut because - because he _had_ gone back, he _had_ remembered, he…

"Hey, The Duke. You okay?"

Ack. Wiping the pending tears from his eyes, The Duke craned his neck back to see Smellerbee and Jet standing over him, the former with traces of concern on her boyish face, the latter quirking a curious eyebrow.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Thanks for asking, Jet." The Duke pushed himself up into a sitting position, folding his legs in front of him. "It's just…"

"That's okay. You did everything you could," the renegade said, a calming smile crossing his face. He pivoted and sat down beside The Duke, casting his gaze at the book before them. "You're pretty intent on this stuff, aren't you?"

"Yeah." The Duke blushed, hunching his shoulders up around his head. "I - it's really fascinating."

"You're better off than I was at your age," Jet conceded, grinning and glancing at The Duke from the corner of his eyes. The stalk of wheat in his mouth arced upwards, and The Duke felt the heat in his face intensify. "I was still on children's scrolls when I was five, nevermind _The Collected Works of Earth Kingdom Mythology_."

Smellerbee, who had been silent until now, moved to sit on the other side of The Duke, hunching her shoulders and leaning forward to better soak in the book's contents. Smirking, she added, "And he hasn't gotten any better since."

"Hah. Shows what you know." Jet scoffed and crossed his arms. "Why, just last week I managed _Tale of Twisted Lip and the Demon_."

Smellerbee snickered, and The Duke just - just joined in, because that _was_ pretty funny. _Tale of Twisted Lip and the Demon_ made an interesting story, but it was a fairy tale at best and The Duke knew Jet's reading skill had to be higher than that. His eyes no longer stung and the thickness in his throat receded a bit.

"And if it helps, I didn't know how to read until I was nine or so." Smellerbee's mouth pulled into a warm grin as she read over the characters sprawled out before her. "And I still have trouble with it. I understand Longshot better than I do these things."

"Why don't you have Skillet help you?" The Duke blurted, curiosity suddenly piqued. How could someone so much older than him struggle with literacy…? "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Nah, that's okay." Smellerbee crooked her head to the side, her hair flopping down over one eye. "It'd be…awkward. I like to learn things on my own where I can."

"It's true, she knows as much about sword fighting only by her own volition," Jet said.

"Oooh, 'volition' is a good vocabulary word."

Jet rested his chin in the crook of his thumb and forefinger and flashed a roguish grin. "It is, isn't it?"

"Besides." Smellerbee coughed loudly and shook her head. "Skillet has enough on her plate as it stands."

As silence settled over the trio, The Duke contemplated the idea of - of offering to teach Smellerbee himself because he was up for the task. It'd be a good way to repay her for freeing him from the slavers…but if she was anything like Pipsqueak, she'd turn him down. _"We saved you because we wanted to and because it's what Freedom Fighters do. So don't worry about it,"_ he'd said, grinning that calm, broad smile of his, and that had been the end of the discussion.

So probably better to let it drop for now. The hush pressed in around them further until Jet broke it, his voice quiet and level.

"The Duke, the pain the Fire Nation's caused you is something a lot of people here can relate to," the renegade said. The Duke turned his head to better gauge him; the older boy leaned forward and frowned, his gaze somber and locked on the boughs spanning ahead of them. "I lost everything I had to them. I can't ever forgive them for that, not a single one of them."

"I…" The Duke frowned. "I'm sorry." Was that it? Was that the best he could come up with? It sounded kind of weak in the face of what Jet was saying, but the leader of the Freedom Fighters had caught The Duke off-guard with his sudden, sneaking venom.

"You can come talk to any of us about it if you need to. Just think about it, okay?" Jet asked, and as suddenly as it had appeared, the poison vanished from his eyes. They twinkled again and he clapped The Duke on his shoulder; the transition both startled and intrigued the young Freedom Fighter - Jet's passion for his charges and kin seemed to be the only thing that could rival his hatred for the Fire Nation. Maybe it was his way of making up for what he couldn't protect as a kid.

With a warm grin, he was up on his feet, away, Smellerbee once more at his side, leaving The Duke alone again with his book. That was Jet's way: swooping into the lives of those in need with a dramatic flair and the skills to back up his showmanship, only to vanish just as quickly. The young Freedom Fighter just wished he hadn't left such a conflicting message behind.

Before he could settle back into _The Collected Works of Earth Kingdom Mythology_ properly, though, something clomped down to the wooden platform behind him; he started, flipping over to his feet and and and _unarmed no pike or seeds_ and was he already thinking like that? But -

- Spatula stood there, his usually pale face flushed bright red, half-hunching behind a pile of crates, (one of which had been knocked over), his eyes wide and his lips parted into something that _could_ have passed for a grin, but looked instead more like a paralyzed grimace. Didn't take a genius to tell the boy had been pretty thoroughly spooked by something.

"Ahaha, s-s-sorry," Spatula laughed, rubbing the back of his head before leaning over to right the crate he'd bowled over. "I just - I, I was - I lost my, my uh, my frying pan and I - I - it's not here so I - "

And with that, he turned on a heel and rushed away, and The Duke grabbed at his chest, heart still thundering, his body still half-jilted into combat mode, ready to fight off an impending attack that wouldn't come.

Had Spatula been eavesdropping? It didn't matter if he had been, but - it'd be kind of weird either way. Guy certainly had an eccentric side to him…


	5. Chapter 4, Part 2

**u**_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book 7: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 4: Spatula Finale, Part 2: Violets are blue, roses are red, living like this, we were already dead...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-7-4-160741609

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Then_

Pestle clutched the door frame, the wood rough and splintery beneath her fingertips. Her tool pouch (emptied for now, because they would clatter together, they'd make noise, they'd give away her position) brushed her thigh through her robes, a warm breeze sifting through her hair from one of the windows, doing little to abate the sweltering summer heat. Sweat glistened on her brow, and she brought one hand up to wipe it clean.

Beyond the frame lay the kitchen, laboriously put together by the construction team - though "team" didn't really fit too well, since it had been mostly her and Mortar and Pipsqueak, with the others helping out where they could. Dark, rich wood, from top to bottom - even the counters and the little island in the center. The only parts that _weren't_ wood were the oven, stove, and water basin; all three had been carved meticulously from stone. They were Pestle's favorite part because - because it was something only she and Mortar could have done, because they were the only Earthbenders the Freedom Fighters had, and yeah, Pipsqueak had helped move the bigger rocks that the sisters weren't strong enough to move on their own, but...but the rest had been her, her and Mortar.

Whenever she came into the kitchen itself - rare, now, after its completion - her attention _always_ drifted to those bits of the kitchen, the bits that were her and her sister's masterwork, something special for them alone. This time, though...this time...

Spatula was alone in the kitchen, whistling to himself and working on the stove - _their_ stove - meat sizzling, crackling up into the air, the succulent (now _there_ was a The Duke word) aroma of barbeque dancing through the air. Skillet had come down with a twenty-four hour flu, so Spatula had taken the helm, cooking for the other nineteen Freedom Fighters...and, and he seemed so _fine_ with that. So at ease about the fact that almost sixty meals had to pass through his purview and his alone today - and he was, he was _happy_ to have that much responsibility!

Pestle couldn't have done that. So much pressure - so little time to do so much - she'd buckle, and Mortar would have to help her see it through, because Mortar was great at that. Pestle didn't have the same focus as her sister or as Spatula, even though she loved designing and building, even though it was her passion.

Still...

He - Spatula wasn't that much older; fourteen, maybe even fifteen by now (she didn't really know his birthday...Freedom Fighters never remembered their own, for the most part, they just celebrated at the eves of the solstices or equinoxes), so...five years, at most. Five years - okay, not much of a numerical difference, but it felt like ages, because he was a man and she was still just a little girl, and - and going up to him, talking to him, even though he wasn't intimidating, he still made her chest tighten and tingle, made her face flush.

The cook was nice - he smiled and laughed, he spoke to Pestle as if she were an equal, even though she had trouble putting words together in return. Her tongue would swell up and her ears would start to itch, and - it was...weird. Yeah, she had problems talking to people, she was always afraid of screwing up and saying The Wrong Thing and it was better to just hang back and let Mortar handle it (she always got it right, she was so self-confident). The weird part was that it was harder to talk to Spatula than anyone else, even though he was friendly, even though it felt like there wasn't much to say to him that _could_ be The Wrong Thing (even though he'd slimmed up considerably since joining, and he was starting to look a little muscular, and she kinda liked muscles). So why was it so difficult to approach him, to say hello, to offer to help him...?

"Yo, Pestle."

"Gyeh - " Pestle jumped back, pressing against the wall next to the doorframe, eyes wide and teeth clenched, and, and, had Spatula seen her, and -

"Jeez, calm down. Spaz." Mortar snorted and flashed a playful smirk. She crossed the threshold of the cafeteria bordering the kitchen, plopping down on the ground in front of Pestle, hunkering down and draping her arms over her knees. Pestle clutched her chest, felt her heart thundering against her ribcage, her throat tight and tingly. "What'cha doing here, anyway? We got some downtime, I figured we could head to the lake. I still need help learning how to swim."

"I, uh - " Pestle's gaze flickered away for a second, and despite her best efforts, she craned her neck back towards the kitchen before shifting her attention back to her younger sister. "I...I'd love to, but..."

Mortar quirked her head to the side, a puzzled frown dangling from her lips, her brow furrowed. "But what? Today's a great day for it - the water'd cool us right down."

"Just - I think I'm busy."

Mortar hiked an incredulous eyebrow. "You 'think' you're busy."

"Um, uh - "

Mortar let her eyes slide shut and bowed her head, and for a second, it felt like - like Pestle had said The Wrong Thing again, to her _sister_ of all people, because that happened now and then - but then Mortar met Pestle's gaze, and she nodded, beaming.

"I get it now. You got a crush on Spatula. _That's_ why you're stalkin' him." Mortar hooted and slapped a knee - loudly, so loud, Spatula would _hear_, and then it'd be all over, this little stake-out would come to a mortifying end because, because Mortar might blab, and - Pestle lunged, eyes wide, clapping her hand over Mortar's mouth.

"Shhh!" Pestle ground her teeth together, face flushed hot, like she could just melt away and vanish into the floor, seeping through the cracks of the wood. "He'll find out we're here!"

Mortar grunted and pried Pestle's hand away from her face, grinning. "Okay, okay."

"You - " Pestle glanced away, before meeting Mortar's gaze again. Biting her lower lip, she murmured, "You gotta promise not to tell. Please? Please promise you won't - "

Mortar snickered and held her right hand up, placing her other hand on her chest. "Cross my heart an' hope to die, stick a sweet bun in my mouth."

The blond Earthbender felt a smile curling up on her cheeks and a giggle burble up from her stomach. She curled her fingers and rested her hands in her lap, letting her eyes slide shut. No, it'd be silly, Mortar blabbing like that...she was better than that. Yeah, they'd fight once in a while, it happened...but it never turned into an effort to completely demoralize each other.

"So - no swimming today." Mortar planted her hands on the floor, palms-down and fingers splayed, an electric grin quirking on her lips. "That can wait. You gotta handle something more important. Get in there and talk to the man, 'cuz he ain't gonna notice you if you hermit clam-up whenever he comes near you."

Pestle hiked her eyebrows, and felt the tingling in her belly freeze, turn to icicles; she shook her head, murmuring, "No, no no no - no, I can't do that, he'll - I - he'll - " And, and it was true, she couldn't, she didn't have Mortar's courage, she would flub it up talking to Spatula, she would and she'd embarrass herself, and that'd be the opposite of what she wanted, and what did Mortar know about boys, anyway, it wasn't like she'd ever had a boyfriend or...

Before she could protest further, Mortar had clambered up to her feet and hooked a hand under Pestle's arm; she hauled her older sister upright and led her towards the entrance to the kitchen. Grinning, she whispered, "You can do it - and if you don't believe in yourself, believe in me, cuz I believe in you! Spatula's really easy to talk to, and I promise I'll be right here, supporting you. So go in there, okay?"

Pestle stammered, tried to say, no, she was going to screw up - but before she could, Mortar shoved her through the doorway. The blond Earthbender lurched, shot a foot out, managed to catch her balance, but her soles scraped across the stone, and it was enough to draw Spatula's attention. The cook glanced over his shoulder, his eyes going wide - and, and, he smiled, at _her_, and said, "Heya, Pestle! What's going on?"

"I, I, I - " Pestle glanced back to the doorway - Mortar stood there, almost completely out of sight. A grin peeled across her tanned, dirty face, and she flashed a thumbs-up. Okay. Okay, Mortar wasn't leaving, she had her back, and that alone made Pestle's resolve tighten, become more acute, focused. Clearing her throat, she turned back to Spatula and asked, "Is it okay if I help you?"

He paused, and - agh, wait, no, that might have come out wrong, she might have said it so that she didn't say what she'd meant, and then words just spurted forward, she couldn't keep them in - "Because, I mean, you're making so much food for everyone, and you look so busy, and I would, you know, I'd - "

"Sure." Spatula grinned again before turning his attention back to the oven. "I'd love the help. Thanks, Pestle. I designate you my official kitchenhand - I'd knight you with my spatula, but I can't turn away from these for too long. Which is why your job is so important, 'cause the first thing I need is the knife I left on the opposite counter."

"O - okay!" Pestle's cheeks, chest, stomach tingled, and she turned to get the knife. Mortar had been right - it hadn't been so hard after all.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Weeks Later_

The forest came with its own unique variety of scents, and most of them reminded Smellerbee of edible foods. Honey, cinnamon, roasting meat…most of them delectable, except for the honey (which she was allergic to), and most of them changing seasonally, except for the meat (which came almost every evening). Even winter, when most of the plant life died and the animals went into hibernation, the place had an aroma. It was a sweet one Smellerbee didn't have a name for – it reminded her of…of something pure and delicious and light.

But sometimes the scents that reached your nose weren't so pretty. Skunk bears lived here after all, and gettin' blasted by those? Not fun. Took forever to get the stink out of your armor, and – oh, jeez, _forget_ your hair. Better to just buzz cut yourself at that point.

During the summer, the lake could recede so much that the acrid tang of sediment would permeate the nearby area, which meant you had to bathe in the river and risked getting swept downstream. That had happened once - she'd only managed to make it to shore several miles out from her starting point, and making her way back to the hideout naked had been..._interesting_.

Then there were those really _dry_ summers. Occasionally, the trees were just brittle and moistureless and all it took was a small brushfire to turn those giant guardians of the forest into glorified matchsticks. One of those incidents was all it took to convince Jet that the Freedom Fighters needed contingency plans put into place – one of the few things Sneers had put onto the table that Smellerbee had agreed with. They only had one back-up hideout, after all, and it was located in the caves only just beyond the forest's edge. Didn't do them much good in the event of a blaze.

Besides, the scent of fire and burning wood weren't strangers to her nose. So when the noxious, familiar odor wafted on the breeze, caressing her cheek, Smellerbee jerked her head up from her freshly-skinned boar wolf and frowned. She rose slowly to her feet, wiping her flensing knife off on the rag she held in her other hand, peering up towards the scarlet canopy above.

Damn. The boughs interlaced too tightly together for her to see any smoke, but she could _smell_ it, charcoal and cinders and soot ready to overtake everything and, and –

The contingencies. She – she had to do her part, and, ugh, she'd have to abandon the boar wolf partway through preparing it…

Sheathing the knife at the small of her back and grabbing up her swords, she scrabbled up the nearest tree, the bark rough and digging into her gloved palms. Be faster to go by tree branch.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Spatula found his work very rewarding, really.

In the months he'd been with the Freedom Fighters, he'd learned so much – about each individual member, about their pasts, their homes, their cultures, about their preferences in food (especially important), everything. He learned to discriminate which were the friendliest (The Duke, Pestle, Pipsqueak, Skillet, Jet) and which ones didn't care so much for him (Longshot, Sneers and to an extent Smellerbee, although she'd been considerably nicer to him lately). For the most part, the others welcomed him, and he felt an enormous sense of well-being cooking for them.

And Skillet made one hell of a head chef. Spatula's cooking skills didn't come close to her's, but she'd told him that he was good, and he'd learned a few tricks from her to spice his dishes up without relying on actual spiciness (but oh, how he yearned for a good batch of flaming fire flakes right now).

The more he worked…even though it was _accomplished_ work…the more he realized the actuality of what Smellerbee had told him in that dusty, old town so long ago. Before he realized she was a girl. Despite his progress and how good it made him feel, he couldn't shake the sensation that he'd be on this path for a long, _long_ time.

The cooking thing was just a start because, well he was _responsible_ now, he was older than almost everyone (except Pipsqueak and Mama Marlin, who weren't present, and Skillet, who was helping him at the moment) and there was so much, so much smoke, so much heat, his, his arms, his face just hurt so brazenly, it was like getting a really bad sunburn, and he couldn't – couldn't _see_ properly, and he carried Toad and Viper in his arms and suddenly they were clear, they were outside, _draw big deep breaths because this air is clean it's fresh and you have to go back inside and had __uevery__ Freedom Fighter been in the kitchen?_

He put more distance between themselves and the burning ruins of Skillet's precious kitchen, but not much because, _coughing, so winded, he'd gotten in much better shape since joining the Freedom Fighters but still wasn't really there_, before setting them down next to Wind-Up and Mortar; Viper had passed out, but Toad was still conscious, and Spatula didn't remember actually _saying_ for them to take care of Wind-Up but he must have because the two older children huddled on either side of the toddler, and, and that was four of them so far, and – and there had been, what, eight inside? So hard to tell, everything had happened so fast, he'd only looked away from his cove for a minute!

Didn't stop don't stop _can't_ stop, once the kids were safe on the ground, he whirled, ran as fast as he could, saw Skillet and Jet erupt from the kitchen with more small, placid bodies in their arms, one for the former and two with the latter, had they passed out or were they dead, he couldn't _tell_. He saw the ash marring their faces, staining their clothes and Jet's armor gray, clumps of the stuff in their hair, and Jet yelling as they approached, "Three more!" And okay, so that was like nine, and then they'd passed each other and Spatula drew another cold, burning, ragged breath before diving into the rage, the blistering inferno, the orange tongues licking upward, the air thick with dark haze and eyes stinging and tearing up and _choking choking can't breathe right_

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Fire.

Fire!

At first - things had been, nothing had been different, out of the ordinary, wrong, just another day - helping Spatula and Skillet (but mostly Spatula), she did it a few days every week when she wasn't working on other responsibilities, and, it had been getting easier to talk with him, and Mortar didn't seem to mind when their swimming lessons got put off, she was great like that, and Skillet and Pickle were grateful for Pestle's presence too, but, but, fire, the next thing she knew! The entire kitchen - just, crackling, blazing, heat on all sides and she had no idea what to _do!_

Heard - screaming, saw Spatula and Skillet trying to put the fire out with, with what? With water, buckets of the stuff, but it just spread and spread and they were shouting, coughing, air so hot, so stifling, and then, then there was Jet, bold, brave despite the, the, the chaos - forget about putting the fire out, help get the other Freedom Fighters out of here and, okay, yes, that made sense, that was an idea, and Pestle whirled, skidded out into the cafeteria, and there - yes, Freedom Fighters, most only a couple years older, many younger, and, and - Wind-Up, Wind-Up was closest, bawling, crying, hot, red tongues of flame licking up at the wood through the kitchen door, oh Spirits it had already started to spread, Pestle scooped Wind-Up into her arms, saw - Mortar, she was there too, eyes wide, shock, scared, teeth grit, and, and Pestle was the older sister, Pestle had to take care of Mortar, Mortar and Wind-Up, Mortar and Wind-Up both, she rushed over to her sister and pushed Wind-Up into her arms, and, and Mortar pressed the toddler close to her chest and fixed Pestle with wide, glistening eyes, paranoid, afraid, and, and!

No time, no time - she grabbed Mortar by the shoulders, (shouted?), and twisted her around, shoving her towards the front door, the fire had already swallowed up the roof, the walls, no fair, it shouldn't be allowed to spread that fast (but it had anyway, like in those dark, burnt memories, too far gone to really remember). Mortar stumbled - jaw slack - and Pestle urged her out again, take Wind-Up, get to safety, her voice already clogged with smoke, she coughed, hacked, voice came out throaty - but Mortar understood, Mortar knew now, she nodded and ran for the door, and, and around her, Skillet, Jet and Spatula scooping up those that they could, depositing them outside, and Pestle really ought to, to go do the same -

Something, something loud behind her crashed, she could hear it over the crackling, over her pulse hammering, hot, heat, pressing in on all sides, hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to think, hard to hear, everything smelled _burnt_, she whirled around, saw Pickle slouched back against a table, The Duke at his side, both - stunned, out of it, and Pickle, his pants were soaked with blood, and, and Pestle ran over to them - couldn't tell how the younger boy had been hurt -

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Heard the screaming – words, maybe, hard to tell, but Spatula could sense – they came from the far corner of the damn place, and it crumbled and roared and split around him like a furious lion turtle, just that big, just that vast, so much, all around. He moved as well as he could around overturned tables and stools, collapsed and flaming crossbeams, grit crunching beneath his boots, and _there!_ The last three, Pickle, Pestle and The Duke, huddled together, still conscious and stuck propped up against a shelving unit.

Spatula reached them – crouched down – and pressed his hand against Pickle's shoulder, the only other kitchen staff aside from him and Skillet, he was the one that kept the kitchen organized, looked between him and The Duke. The air was blistering and thick but easier to breathe down here, and over the crackling hissing roaring around them he called, "Are you okay?"

"My legs hurt," Pickle whimpered, scrunching his eyes shut and balling his fists over them. "I'm s-scared, Spatula."

"I, I, uh - " The Duke's gaze flitted to the door, face drained of color, a stream of glistening blackred seeping down his cheek from beneath his bangs. "Can't - yeah, I'm...headache."

"You'll be alright, guys, I promise." Despite the circumstances he had been riding high on a rush of courage and adrenaline, because – because this was his _kitchen_, his _element_, and the inferno be damned, he was still at his strongest in this place above all others. "Jet and Skillet and I are all working hard to get everyone out."

As if life was a day at the theater, he heard footsteps behind him – turning, he saw Jet and Skillet approach, they hunched down all together, and without saying anything each one of them grabbed a child, Spatula took Pestle, her shirt stained with more, more blood, slick and hot against Spatula's chest, through his apron and robes and then they were up, turning, ready to move –

Prefaced by a groaning, giveaway creak, a pair of support beams broke – split – crashed down, so loud it was like, like standing next to a barrel of blasting jelly going off, and – oh, _shit_, there was – it blocked the exit! The crossbeams fell right in their path, and he saw Jet jumping back instinctively, scowling and flinching all at once, turning his shoulder to it to protect The Duke, cradled in his arms. The – the door, the _light_, lay just beyond, freedom, tantalizingly close – there weren't any other doors, and – and a quick glance around, the windows were all blocked off, choked with flame, and…

Skillet turned her attention to Jet, and her voice was muffled but the panic was still, still almost _tangible_. "What – what are we gonna do? Jet, how do we – "

Freedom waited for them just out of reach. And…and Spatula was a Freedom Fighter…and…

_"And so help me, if you Firebend - if your cover gets blown - you're on your own because I will deny ever knowing the truth…"_

(_I know_)

_"The Duke, the pain the Fire Nation's caused you is something a lot of people here can relate to. I lost everything I had to them. I can't ever forgive them for that, not a single one of them."_

(_I u__know!_)

This was – it was too sudden, and – and he hadn't redeemed himself yet, he had so far to go, the road was too long and he'd only just started on it, and – and saving everyone would be a step down that path, but then he'd have to abandon it –

- it would be better than subjecting his friends to death.

That...that was what made the most sense.

He crouched down again and set Pestle gently on the ground. Skillet and Jet – they saw him moving, followed his lead – did they think he was just prolonging the inevitable? Probably, it _was_ easier to breath down here…but, but he _had_ to do this, he had the only way out, and he'd never taken in this much fire, but he had to…

Folding his hands in front of him, he pointed his index fingers upward and interlaced the rest. Closing his eyes, he breathed in – out – in – out, deep, slow, and – and time wasn't their ally, but – needed to concentrate or it wouldn't work at all – and – and, there, that was good –

He opened his mouth, eyes, and craned his neck back. He heard Jet say something – probably, "What the hell are you doing?" but he couldn't be sure. And, and then – just, _take it all in_ –

Spatula inhaled through his mouth, taking as much as he could in

side

his

body

and his vision turned white and blind and couldn't see or hear his mouth and sinuses and throat and stomach burned hot hot _so hot_ _hot hot sweat red heat raging searing can't breathe can't see can't hear can't speak can't move can't breathe can't breathe can't u__**breathe**_ –

arch head up

a glimmer of light – hole in the ceiling

gonna

gotta

so hard gonna burst

let go

let go

_LET GO_

He opened his mouth, screamed, because there was nothing else, he had to let go somehow or he'd explode, and – and he saw, the cone of fire, so much bigger than all the other times, such a bright yellow that it almost looked white instead and it spewed up, out, dissipating before it hit any of the branches hanging overhead and at least the fire wouldn't spread and the rage inside him had been let out and he'd done it he'd saved them he was a real _Freedom Fighter_ now and

He felt so tired as he turned his attention back downward. The fire in the kitchen had – vanished, yes, he'd gotten all of it in one gulp, although some smoke still lingered. Anything that was left – crossbeams, furniture, counters, shelves, all scorched black and split, charred. The fire had left extensive damage and the floor was covered in ashes; even with the fire out, they should still – still get out of here quickly, because there was nothing left stable in this place –

Jet.

He brought his attention down to Jet and Skillet and The Duke and Pestle, all of whom stared up at him with – with, fury? Yes, partially that. Surprise. Hate. Confusion. Jet's eyes had gone wide and his irises small.

_"I can't ever forgive them for that, not a single one of them."_

"You're…" Skillet pulled Pickle closer to her chest, defensively. "You're Fire Nation."

A ruined shell it may be, but it was still a kitchen, and he still felt his true self for it. So Spatula nodded and murmured, "Yes."

He turned, shoved over the nearest table, and ran around the collapsed crossbeams, out through the front door.

He did not hear any footsteps behind him, but it didn't stop him from pushing himself as hard as he could.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

He was -

Spatula was a Firebender?

But...but, he had seemed so - nice, so happy! He gave, he didn't take, he smiled and laughed and played, he didn't snarl or growl or threaten, not like the Fire Nation was _supposed_ to do, and it didn't make any sense! Pestle stared up at him, eyes wide, how to, how do you gauge something like this? The Fire Nation was the enemy, because Jet said they were and Jet was always right, but Spatula had, she had _liked_ him, and he had saved her - saved all of them - and...

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Smellerbee arrived at the remains of Skillet's kitchen in time to see that the fire had been – put out, somehow. As she dropped down into the clearing, the odor of burnt wood roared too freshly in her nostrils, and she saw the gathered children sitting or standing a distance away from the building. The dirt around the kitchen had been scorched black.

The fire_._ Where was the fire? She didn't see anyone bailing water (first contingency) or leading an evacuation (second contingency) or smothering the flames with blankets (third contingency). She was the first one here, where was Longshot and Pipsqueak and Sneers and –

"_Jet!_"

Smellerbee whipped her attention to the kitchen's entrance in time to see Jet and Skillet stalking out, clutching The Duke, Pestle and Pickle between them. And Jet – he looked, he _looked_ enraged, yes, but that was nothing compared to how the air mutated around him, thick and smothering. She could pick up how furious he was, like blistering heat pressing into her skin. Soot stained their faces, their clothes, their hair, though they looked okay for the most part...but.

"Jet, don't go after him," Skillet begged, following the leader of the Freedom Fighters. "Let him run! We need to take care of the children!"

"_Someone_ needs to chase him down!" Jet raged, his shoulders hunched, carrying a child under each arm. "He's Fire Nation! I can't _believe_ it!"

_Shit._ That pruned the list of arsonists down to a very specific margin. Narrowing her eyes, her brow furrowed, Smellerbee balled up her fists and hurried over to Jet, her heart pounding in her chest. "Jet! What happened, what – is everyone okay? I smelled the fire, and – "

"Spatula's a Firebender." Skillet pressed her lips together, casting a flickering glance at Smellerbee before turning her attention to the children. Some of them were unconscious, and those that weren't huddled together, and the head chef kneeled down before them, starting to tend to them. "I – I don't know what happened, but a fire started at the oven while he was cooking at it, and it spread. He did – he did _something_, took it all in and breathed it out before the kitchen could cave in on us. He saved the children. He saved _us_."

"But he's still Fire Nation!" Jet kneeled down and eased The Duke and Pestle onto the ground. "He probably started the fire on purpose! Smellerbee - you - "

She growled, bunched her shoulders up - and clenched her fists together because, because she was _pissed_, Spatula had blown his cover, he'd Firebent, he'd broken her trust and that asshole how _dare_ he - !

"Jet, you got leaderly things to do," Smellerbee hissed, and she met his eyes, and - and yes, he was furious, but she was furious too, it didn't matter that the sources of their rage were different. She'd known ahead of time that Spatula was the enemy, and he'd turned himself back _into_ that enemy. Jet didn't know that, so he wasn't enraged at her...and he felt just as betrayed, and...

...and she was gonna fix things.

"I'll handle this. I'll _kill_ him." She bared her teeth. "He lied to me. He lied to _all_ of us. You take care of the others."

Jet stared at her for a moment before clambering up to his feet, squaring his shoulders. He met her gaze, frowned, and set his hands on her shoulders, his fingers tightening against her muscles and bones.

"I trust you," he whispered. "You've got more reason than the rest of us. Be careful. You know what those creeps are capable of."

If Smellerbee had been a different person, she would have felt guilty for lying like this. But - no, she was just furious now, and she needed to cover this mess up before someone smart enough to figure out the truth came along.

She nodded to Jet, her leader, her best friend, her older brother not bound by blood, before pushing away from him to find Spatula's trail. He wasn't a hunter or a thief like she was, and he'd be easy enough to track down.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

She found him loping through the forest not five minutes later, heaving and puffing and sweating, covered in soot just as Jet and Skillet had been, and - and it would be too easy to just hurl a knife into his neck, but she had to - had to put some _closure_ to this, as stupid as it sounded.

Leaping away from a tree branch, Smellerbee dove, the wind rushing past her, sweeping her hair back, eyes watering, heart rushing, and - and she collided with him, tackling him down to the ground and rolling, rolling, thundering to a stop by crashing into a tree. She was up on her feet and jumped away from him, swords drawn, pointing, right at him, and -

"_Stop! Please!_" He begged, scrambling backwards, pressing his back into the tree, eyes wide, not focused on her swords but instead on _her_, as if, as if she wasn't really going to run him through, but she was! How dare he have the audacity to think otherwise?

"Why should I?" She demanded, and even to herself her voice sounded shrill and panicked. "You - you blew it in the worst possible way! You Firebent in front of _Jet_, of all people!"

"That - I did it to save us!" Spatula cried, and - and were his eyes tearing up? In one hand he clutched his namesake spatula, charred black and about ready to fall apart, bits of it crumbling away. "We were trapped in the kitchen, and I absorbed the fire so we could escape! I saved Jet and Skillet and The Duke and - "

"That doesn't matter," she said, and - and it _didn't_ matter, she shouldn't have to say it because it was so obvious already, wasn't it? "Jet hates Firebenders. It doesn't matter who they are, and the fact that one saved his life only makes it worse for him. I came here and told him I'd kill you because for all I know, you _started_ that fire!"

"_I did!_" Spatula howled, tears streaming down his face, his cheeks flushed with heat. "With spark rocks, like I've been doing since I got here! I was _cooking a meal_, I was trying to redeem myself, I looked away for _half a second_, and you're taking that and - and - and _throwing it back_ at me!"

He was baiting her, taking her off the subject, but he'd hit the mark because she felt herself bristling, her hair standing on end as she spoke in dangerous, glimmering knife strokes, fluid and graceful and fatal. "I warned you, back in that town. I warned you that I didn't trust Firebenders either, and that I should have killed you on general principal. And I was so dumb to think that maybe you were different from the rest, that I could actually trust you, that you could be a good person!"

"You _are_ dumb," he said, his voice low and heated and Smellerbee jolted at the accusatory tone in his breath. He'd never just attacked her like that; he always kind of soaked up her abuse and rolled over. But now was a different time and maybe he realized he was a dead man anyway, so what difference did it make if he grew a spine now? "You're not listening to me. I didn't do anything wrong! I only did what I could to save lives where my people have meaninglessly taken them. If you just talk to Jet - "

" - then he'd kick me out. I _can't_ get kicked out of the Freedom Fighters because without them then I don't have _anything_," she snapped, and she couldn't mask the warble in her voice as she said it. She felt her arms lowering to her sides, the tips of her swords no longer aimed at Spatula's neck. "He won't accept you now that he knows who you are, and he's not the only one. Your only hope for redemption was staying anonymous. If I'm not the one who kills you, then one of the others will."

Although his tears did not stop falling, carving twin, glimmering paths of fleshtone through the soot on his cheeks, his expression hardened and he said, "Then kill me, because I'd rather it be you. You were the one who found me and the one who let me into this life. I owe you that much."

For the second time, she stood struck by what he'd said to her. What the hell? That - it - no fair, she was so ready to run him through and he was ready to die, how come _he _had found resolution when that same closure still evaded _her_? Clenching her fists, gritting her teeth, she wanted to just - to _yell_ at him, because he was such an asshole, he was just like every other Firebender after all, taking and taking and taking regardless of the circumstances, and -

With a roar, she brought her swords up again and thrust them forward. They bit hard, cutting into their target with a screech and a splatter of sticky sap.

Spatula thrust his hands in the air and yelped...paused...then gradually opened his eyes, realizing that pain hadn't fallen onto him. Smellerbee dislodged her swords from the tree and sheathed one of them; with the other hand, she reached out and plucked the spatula from the Firebender's hand. She felt so...so _tired_, so much had happened over the course of the past few minutes, and this idiot here had to go and just destroy everything she'd been helping him work towards.

"Go," she said, her voice low and unsteady and she loathed herself for being so feeble. "I hate you, and you've ruined your chance at making things right here. Spatula was a Fire Nation infiltrator, an' I killed him for it."

"But - "

"You still have the ability to make good," the swordswoman cut in, turning away - casting her head left, right, pretending to sweep for an animal of some kind. While she'd need one in a moment, it also served to hide the fact that, that her eyes pricked, her vision blurred. To hide the fact that the corners of her mouth pulled down into a sharp crescent frown that wouldn't go away. "But you can't do it here."

And...nothing, just the birds singing to each other, the rustling of the wind combing the leaves, the smell of burnt wood wafting through the air. Eventually, Smellerbee heard Spatula push himself up to his feet and - and start to back away, before turning and running again and vanishing and he wouldn't _ever_ come back into her life.

She had his namesake cooking tool to prove she'd taken his life; all she needed now was an animal with enough blood in it to make it look like she'd had to make a messy kill to complete the ruse.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Now_

_Earth Kingdom, near the Fire Nation occupied territories_

_Nineteen days until Sozin's Comet_

Smellerbee _had_ become a different person in that time, and she remembered the events of that day so clearly. If - if time hadn't moved on in its own ways, if her metamorphosis hadn't begun with Jet's death, then maybe she'd have had the room in her to feel remorse for...for betraying her leader and brother, really, because that's what the whole thing with Spatula had been. At the time, she'd been so furious with the Firebender that Smellerbee shunted all the blame to him by default - on _general principal_, as she'd put it.

But Jet was dead and Spatula was...Spirits knew where, if he was even alive. It didn't matter. What _did_ was the task at hand.

They would have to cross into areas controlled by the Fire Nation starting with first light tomorrow, and it had been a long, arduous journey thus far; still, she was proud of her fractional band of Freedom Fighters, for their skills and their talents and how well they'd done getting to this point. It would only get harder from here, and tomorrow they would have to don their Fire Nation clothing in order to properly infiltrate enemy territory.

First things first, though - they had to set camp for the night, and tonight it was her turn to help cast the net to make sure no enemies had chosen to do the same nearby. Or to scout for more advantages positions, like one near a stream for easy fishing and bathing. Or to avoid platypus bear caves and other wildlife hazards. (Camping near those had proven on more than one occasion to be a pants-soiling disaster. When it came to subtle-yet-impolite wake-up calls, platypus bears earned their merit badges without trying.) And while normally this sort of grunt work was, well, grunt work, she didn't feel right sitting on her laurels all the time while leaving menial tasks to those under her purview if there weren't any plans to be made. They had their mission goals, and she'd alternate with Sneers (and occasionally Pestle) so there was at least one person of authority with the bulk of the main group at all times.

This area - a sparse woods - would make a fantastic camp site if she could properly hunt down the source of the running fresh-water stream she heard and smelled, but the sun had almost set beyond the horizon. With failing light, navigating undergrowth became..._tricky_, to say the least, and while having easy access to running water and dinner would be nice, it wasn't a necessity, and she'd have to turn back soon before the impairment of her vision hindered her too much.

Wait. Over the stream whispering in the distance...voices. She couldn't tell much, they were distant enough where she could barely make out the sound, and only vaguely at that. That was a pretty good excuse to keep moving forward, to keep exploring; if they turned out to be enemies, then she'd at least get some exercise in before having to report back about the stream.

She kept moving, keeping her pace steady and her footfalls light; the voices pulled quickly into the foreground and Smellerbee could hear their tones now, one gruff and threatening (and familiar?), the other wobbling and cowardly and begging. Trouble for somebody, probably. She kept moving, and eventually the voices solidified, actualized themselves into real words instead of just a shambling mumble, and - yeah, definitely trouble.

"...telling you, I, I don't _have_ any money, I'm just a - a - a traveler - "

"That's the sixth time you've said it and it still ain't convincing," replied the gruff voice, and Smellerbee - _yes_, she _did_ recognize it. Her eyes went wide and she pressed her mouth into a tight line; it belonged to Mongke, the leader of the Rough Rhinos, the group that had taken Longshot from her. She thumbed the brim of her more-than-a-friend's hat, which obscured most of the thin canopy from overhead, blocked out the purpling, orange-streaked sky. "S'a matter of fact, it gets less convincing with each time. I think we should..._rough_ him up a little."

Erf. Taking on the Rough Rhinos alone would be a mistake, but...but whoever they were harassing didn't have the time she needed to return to her camp and get back-up, and they were too far away for the bird-calls to work. She'd just have to be fast and capitalize on the element of surprise; in and out, away before the Fire Nation rogues knew what had happened.

Unsheathing Jet's swords, Smellerbee crouched down and bared her teeth. This was for Jet...for herself...an' most importantly, for Longshot.


	6. Chapter 5

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 5: The Creed: "Never run from the enemy"**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Earth Kingdom, near Fire Nation colonies_

_19 days until Sozin's Comet_

Smellerbee did not like these odds.

On the way to Hong Ye Forest, the rain had been so thick as to hamper her senses to the point where she couldn't tell exactly how many Rough Rhinos there were. Jet had never given her an exact number of their ranks when he dared to talk about them, to go to his Dark Place (Smellerbee never wanted to, you know, push him), and - well, it wasn't like she knew what standards the group had and if they added or took away from the group on a regular basis. Or even an _irregular_ basis.

But now, the only handicap her senses suffered was impending darkness...thankfully, there was still enough light left in the sky to reflect the truth to her. Peering out between a small gap between two trees, using brush as cover, the cool evening air licked the nape of her neck as she soaked in her enemies.

Five. There were _five_ Rough Rhinos - Monkge, the one she remembered from before, had a nose ring and a long mustache, his head bald save his topknot, which had three red feathers sticking out from the brace holding it up. Then the man with the chain flail that had caused the most damage to her personally last time, a man wearing a red and black helmet with explosives hanging from several belts and bandoliers slung across his body and komodo rhino, a bearded man holding a glaive, and a Yuu Yan archer, older than the others, his eyes and cheeks painted with the traditional red markings of the legendary Fire Nation subdivision.

Smellerbee remembered all of them to one degree or another except for the bearded one; the one with the explosives and the Yuu Yan had attacked her distantly in that rainstorm, and this was the first time she'd seen them so clearly.

The quintet, perched on their komodo rhinos, had formed a half-ring around a tall man with a long face and spectacles, wearing an eccentric collection of maroon robes draped asymmetrically across his body. His back was pressed flush into a tree, arms splayed out at his sides, his eyes wide and mouth pulled into a sharp frown - he was terrified. And behind the tree cowered a - a - skunk bear? No...a platypus bear...? No, that wasn't right either. A wasp bear? _Some_ kind of bear, in any case. (The fact that Smellerbee couldn't identify its crossbreed was just as weird and out of place as the fact that it seemed more afraid of the Rough Rhinos than the man in front of him was.) And while the man hardly looked out of shape, he didn't stand a chance against these glorified bullies.

She _had_ to help him. The Rough Rhinos would tear him apart, and now it was just a matter of waiting for the right -

_Mongke clashed his black and crimson metal gauntlets together, sending sparks flying, and fire danced across his fingertips_

Crap! Too soon, they were already moving at Mongke's cue - Smellerbee leapt from the bushes just as the Rough Rhinos' leader launched a wave of fire at the robed man and his (something)bear. She loosened Jet's swords from their harness and swung them around in twin glimmering, orange circles; she twisted, rotating the swords as to disperse the wave (the fire washed away, embers peppering her face and sleeves), landed hard on her shoulder, roll, roll, get _up!_ On her feet, her shoulder throbbed a little but that was nothing really and she glanced back at her new charges and asked, "Are you okay?"

The man, face gone chalk-white, stammered something unintelligible while managing a quick nod.

"Then get the hell out of here!" Smellerbee pointed in the direction of the camp - where the Freedom Fighters were stationed for the night. "Go!"

She didn't wait to see if the man and his bear followed her instruction, because she couldn't baby-sit them and fend off the Rough Rhinos at the same time; she turned away from him, towards her enemies, surging in a tight arc, stooped down, curving around and towards Mongke, the ringleader, the most overtly dangerous

something small and rectangular and black thumped against the ground, sending up a spray of underbrush. Smellerbee jumped over it and felt more than heard the explosion against her back, a wave of heat and dirt, pummeling her back, her hair, her hearing reduced to a dull ringing noise - but the explosion didn't _catch_ her, it just pushed her forward. She landed, rolled, and brought Jet's sword up, digging the blade into the side of Mongke's komodo rhino. The beast jerked and maybe roared (_couldn't tell_) before taking off, the sword dislodging itself from the creature's thick hide. Mongke himself jumped off the stampeding beast, fists alight, but Smellerbee anticipated it and snared his wrists with Jet's swords, kneeing him sharply in the abdomen. He fell, winded, and the Freedom Fighter whirled to face the rest (a necessary mistake, couldn't take her eyes off the others), her heart jumping up into her throat, her stomach alight with a tingling buzz.

A thick haze of smoke rose up through the not-quite-a clearing this battle had been unleashed into; the flail with the twin iron balls at the end erupted through the smoke, crashing into the dirt beside Smellerbee, impacting so hard into the dirt as to create a miniature crater (she could feel the vibrations rocking up through her knees).

Smellerbee didn't wait for him to withdraw the chain (flaming arrows incoming, duck and juke and watch _out_), instead she crouched down and charged back through the pillar of smoke, masking her face with an arm. The smoke stung her eyes, so she lowered her head - Longshot's hat filtered out the worst of it - and erupted out of the other side just as the bearded man took a mighty swing with his glaive at her. Smellerbee raised one of the swords, instinctual, barely blocked it, so sloppy, but better than nothing, and the glaive's blade screamed across that of Jet's sword. A quick twist caught her enemy's weapon in the sword's hook; she snapped the second sword around the bearded man's wrist, tugging on both at once. His mouth curled into a circle, eyes scrunched shut as the sword dug into his flesh (she still couldn't hear, but she knew he was screaming). He lost his grip on the weapon, sliding out of the hook of Jet's sword; Smellerbee brought it up, buried the hook into the man's shoulder, yanking him out of his saddle and slamming him chin-first into the ground.

One unconscious, one stunned, three still to go - and not a break in sight. Now would be the time to run away, because the Rough Rhinos wouldn't be focused on the robed man anymore, they'd want to take a piece out of _her_ hide, and she could outrun them if she stuck to the trees -

_The Yuu Yan_.

The archer appeared from the corner of her gaze and she leapt back as he fired two more flaming arrows from his longbow, painted maroon with a notch set in beneath the grip that held a small, flickering flame. Okay, _that_ was an interesting shtick; Longshot had used flaming arrows in the past, but it always took time and preparation. When she saved him, she'd have to tell him about this -

...this...

The bow.

Not - not the Yuu Yan's bow - another one, a shortbow he had hung from his komodo rhino's saddlehorn. A curled gazelke horn made up its belly while sinew had been tightly wound around the top - obscuring the dark oakwood beneath.

_Longshot's_ bow. The Yuu Yan had taken it as a war trophy.

And - and - before Smellerbee realized, she charged straight at him, wind raking at her cheeks, blowing back her bangs, straight _at_ him, and that was dumb, it was so stupid because it made her so easy to hit, but it didn't matter, that was _Longshot's_ bow, it was _his_, not this stupid Fire Nation jerkbelly -

Her throat hurt, she could tell she was screaming (was she screaming her thoughts at him? Couldn't tell, couldn't hear herself), and the air was, was so hot around her, hard to breathe almost - another explosion rocked her, detritus pelting her from the left, sending her off-kilter. She stumbled to the side - hadn't realized, but her arm had been scorched, the blast had destroyed her sleeve, that was okay it was just clothing she'd be replacing anyway, getting that bow back was more important and she tried to shout it, so loud that everyone would know, "That bow isn't _**yours!**_" and then a blur of black from her peripheral vision and, she passed one of Jet's swords off into the other hand, reached out, so _close_, fingertips brushing the rough hide of the komodo rhino -

"_Duck!_"

The words barely reached her, but she ducked just in time as - as _somebody_, not the robed man or Sneers or any of her Freedom Fighters, but a new person, stepped out in front of the flying ball-and-chain, deflecting it _barehanded_, where it connected with the Yuu Yan's chest and knocked him off his steed.

What the - what the hell...?

This new person, the one who had saved her, towered over her, wearing filthy green robes that had frayed around the sleeves and at the edge of his tunic. With broad shoulders and shoulder-length gray hair, he turned slowly to face her, and

and she _knew_ him.

The old man on the ferry that had mistaken her for a boy.

Zuko's uncle.

The Dragon of the West.

General Iroh.

Furrowing his brow, the age lines in his face accentuated by the fading sunlight, Iroh extended a large hand to Smellerbee. Maybe it was because of how surreal this situation was - or maybe the explosion had knocked her through more of a loop than she thought - but the first thing she noticed about him was how short his beard was now. In Ba Sing Se, it had gone down to his chest; now, it appeared trimmed, with a few inches shaved clean between his sideburns and chin. What remained fluffed out into...triangles, pointies, she never really had a good way to describe them, but it was definitely a Fire Nation thing. (It'd take a hell of a lot to convince her that he _wasn't_ Fire Nation at this point, if she hadn't already known.)

"Are you alright?" He asked, but the words were fuzzy, a thick coat of fur draped over her ears. What she didn't pick up by listening, she pieced together by watching him speak. "We should get out of here while we can!"

...

Smellerbee glanced down at the hand extended towards her. Taking it meant - meant _trusting_ him, meant going a step further than she'd done with Zuko in Omashu. But Iroh had helped her without resorting to tying her up, and when Jet tried to force Zuko's hand in Ba Sing Se, _Iroh_ was the one calling for peace, _Iroh_ was the one who wanted neither teen to get in trouble...

Every instinct in Smellerbee's head argued with each other. Her natural mistrust for Fire Nation clashed with the new mentality she'd been trying to live under and her willingness to at least work with Zuko in Omashu; she didn't have a chance by herself against the Rough Rhinos and Iroh would help her escape...but she swore never to _truly_ trust another Firebender after Spatula.

If she died now, because the Rough Rhinos _would_ kill her, then everything she'd done up to this point would be for nothing. And she just couldn't let that happen with so many depending on her. A greater sense of self overwhelmed her - like being thrown into the lake during springtime while half asleep, except without the icy fingers wrapping around her and choking her. It's all about survival, and that revelation was all it took, and she reached out and clasped Iroh's wrist, his larger, calloused fingers closing around hers. He pulled her up to her feet; wobbling, regaining her balance, she hurried over to the placid komodo rhino that belonged to the Yuu Yan and snatched up Longshot's bow.

Okay. _Now_ they could leave.

Turning back to Iroh, Smellerbee said, "Follow me!" And to her relief, he just nodded, didn't protest, and she led him between the trees.

As they ran, Smellerbee caught sight of the man in maroon robes and his bear, huffing and puffing and slogging along ahead of them; calling out to the pair, she again issued the order to follow, and even as winded as they were, they obeyed, and that was okay because it meant everyone would at least escape this situation alive.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

Eventually, Smellerbee felt they'd put enough distance behind them to call for a brief respite so the man in red robes and his bear could catch their wind. And while her ears still felt at least partially like they'd been clogged with muck, she strained to listen for pursuit regardless, occasionally casting a glance backwards over her shoulder to make sure. The woods were behind them now for the most part, and ahead spanned rugged, sparse plains, stretching outward in all other directions, the horizon a faded orange. Grass and dirt crunched under her boots, felt more than heard, and the rotten, corroding smell of ozone wrought havoc with her nose.

Iroh didn't seem to want to let his guard down, either - she noticed how his ears twitched as he plucked out the tiniest sounds, how his hazel eyes shifted left and right and left again, glimmering in the sunset's light, how he kept his lips pressed together in a passive frown. This person was _nothing_ like the man Smellerbee had met on the ferry…even if he _had_ mistaken her for a boy at the time, saying he wasn't a good person would be an injustice.

Like this, though - here, now - he had to be General Iroh. She didn't know his circumstances other than what Zuko had told her and Longshot in Omashu, but maybe Iroh knew just how desperate things were for the world.

"I believe we are safe for now," Iroh said at last, his voice rough and cautious from years of army experience. "I know Mongke and the Rough Rhinos very well. They will not follow us if they are not in peak form."

"Good." Smellerbee shook her head and felt the added weight of dirt and soot clinging to her hair; no point in bothering to clean it out thoroughly, though. She sheathed Jet's swords on her back, slipped Longshot's hat down behind her, and bowed forward, sweeping the worst of it out, her fingers catching on the grit and tangling in the knots of her hair. When finished, she cast a gaze over to the southeast, where the Freedom Fighters' camp lay hidden, waiting for her report. The wind tickled at her ears, warm and gentle, almost like -

like Longshot running his fingers against her skin.

Okay, no. If she thought about Longshot now...she pushed those thoughts away, instead turning to look at the estranged Fire Nation General. "It's been a long time since I saw you."

"And in return, Smellerbee." Iroh smiled - a warm, almost fatherly thing that caught Smellerbee off guard. It clashed with the ruggedness in his voice, and it - it reminded her of lofty, slow flute music. Was this how he managed to stick by a jerk like Zuko for so long? The last person she could actually remember acting paternally to her was Jet…but, Jet had been only a little older than her and that little fallacy had made him more of an older brother figure in her life. Iroh's nature and age lent themselves well to each other. "The ferry ride to Ba Sing Se, yes?"

"Well, kinda." She placed a hand on the back of her head and chuckled. "I saw you in Ba Sing Se, when Jet attacked the tea shop."

Iroh's grin fell into a flat line. "I apologize that I was unable to prevent his arrest."

"It…" It what? It was okay? It didn't fit, given how - how arrest led to manipulation led to murder. She let her gaze flicker down to the ground and sighed. "There wasn't anything else you could'a done. Don't worry about it."

"I do not know what has happened between then and now," Iroh said, "but you have started to blossom."

(_Gerkt!_) Her first instinct was to draw an arm in over her chest, and heat rose up into her face, her pulse hammering behind her ears. Where the hell had _that_ come from? Why was he bringing up her…her boyishness now? Like he hadn't given up on it? Hunching her shoulders up she grumbled, "Yeah, uh, thanks, I guess."

"Oh, uh - no, I did not quite mean it that way!" Iroh brought his hands up and his eyes went wide, glistening in the distant sunset. He let his arms fall back to his sides. "Smellerbee, you are a beautiful person (and please don't take this the wrong way!). When you find someone special that you would like to have in your life, if you have not already, I'm positive they will find the same beauty in you that I do."

"You called me a boy on the ferry."

"A slip of the tongue, I assure you." And damn if he did not fix her with the slyest grin, the wise, childlike amusement glistening in his hazel eyes. Despite the humiliation prickling the back of her neck, she snorted and felt her cheeks tingle, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. Something about this man…he could spread a positive mood without really trying, just by the clever application of the right words. (Smellerbee wished more people in the world had been blessed with the gift, because she could use more bright lights in her day.) "My point is, do not take criticism of your body so closely to heart. Only when you are happy with who you are will you find true peace."

She crooked her head to the side and smiled. "You sound a lot like Longshot."

"Not to say anything of Longshot, but it comes with age."

They fell into silence for a moment, the previous topic at hand hanging unsaid in the air between them. At first, Smellerbee didn't get why Iroh didn't pursue it, but - it didn't really take much thought, 'cause it was obvious that he was waiting for her to bring it back up again. She guessed that he'd realized he'd made a faux paz, and didn't feel like it was his place to continue unless she let him - at least, that's what it felt like. While it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to do, talking to a man in Iroh's position, and of his brief history with Smellerbee, their conversation thus far had been…well, _civil_. There was a flow to how this worked, a rhythm, and _not_ following through with it would break that flow.

"What did you mean, then?" She asked.

"What I meant was that you have changed and begun to realize your destiny." The fact that he didn't need to ask for clarification proved Smellerbee's theory, and she felt a little swell of pride rise up inside her chest. "Like a tiger lily opening to greet the sun every morning, you have blossomed into becoming the person you are supposed to be."

"I…" Her face burned again, but this time not out of humiliation. A breeze whistled past, and Smellerbee was reminded of a musician crooning on a sungi horn, a steady, wise tune that felt almost too fit for the gray-haired man at her side. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome," Iroh replied. "Although I have to admit, the fact that you are alone does concern me. Not that I think you are incapable of handling yourself, but your friends' possessions on your back tells me that something is not as it should be."

She nodded, sighing. At this point, explaining Jet's death and Longshot's imprisonment had become…well, easier, yeah, but it still hurt to have to do. Especially Jet. Longshot could still be saved, but talking about her former leader left a cave in her stomach.

She decided to relay to him the abridged version of the story - covering the basics from Lake Laogai, to chancing across Zuko in Omashu, to setting back out to save their comrades and those who had attempted to invade the Fire Nation on the Day of Black Sun. As she spoke, Iroh closed his eyes and turned his head away, a frown creasing his face.

"So you know, then, that your friend was correct about us," Iroh murmured.

"I - it's not easy to get over. But yeah, I know." Smellerbee glanced away and felt her eyes narrow. "I still got some issues to work out, but they're _my_ issues. I've been learning to expand the way I think. The world ends with me, you know? If I let people with different opinions clash against me, I can better form and understand who I am. Even though you're…you're a Fire Nation noble, even though I would have killed you without hesitatin' not too long ago, I…kinda respect you. You're not a bad person, and you're not the first person from the Fire Nation I've met who's like that."

Iroh looked at her, and a humble grin rode on his face - and…and, was he _proud_? It - the shine was undeniable, and the sensation of him being a paternal figure to those he met throbbed in the back of Smellerbee's mind. It was weird, unusual, like touching a slug after a rainstorm - but not as slimy. Blushing yet again, she cast her gaze back out towards the direction of the camp.

"We should return to our campsite," Smellerbee said, clearing her throat and trying to shake the sensation of having this complete stranger (for all intents and purposes) acting as if she were his granddaughter and she'd done something astounding and mature. "My men and women are gonna be waitin' for me. I'm sure they heard Boom-Boom's explosions back there."

"Before - before we do, uh…"

Smellerbee and Iroh turned around; the man in red robes had regained his breath and stood behind them with his bear at his side. Smellerbee swore there was something unusual about this wanderer, something…_green_, inexperienced. Definitely not the kind of person who should be traveling the world alone, let alone with a bear that appeared more afraid of running leaves than a quivering puppy chimp. But the weirdest thing - he had _spectacles_. Smellerbee hadn't noticed them before. Spectacles weren't commonplace in the world because of the cost that went into making them, and how hard it was to customize them for each person. Usually, you either had good eyesight or you just had to tough it out. (Smellerbee felt herself fortunate to fall into that first group.)

"I apologize." Iroh bowed his head slightly. "Forgive this old man. My name is Iroh, and this is Smellerbee, a Freedom Fighter. Who might you be?"

The man - who had a long face and tanned skin, brown hair peaking out from beneath the scarlet turban on his head - leaned back a little bit, his eyes going wide, as if he couldn't believe what he heard. "I - we are well met. I am - my name is - Kuei. This is my bear, Bosco."

"We are well met indeed, Kuei and Bosco." Iroh curled one hand into a fist over his chest, wrapping the other hand around it. He bowed to them. "I hope you are okay after your close brush with those bullies?"

"Yeah, I - thank you, for saving our lives." Kuei swallowed and returned the gesture, turning to Smellerbee and offering the same to her; surprised (she'd never really been one for formality, after all), Smellerbee fumbled with the proper placement of her hands before bowing at him as well. "Both of you. I don't know how I can repay you."

"Don't worry about it," Smellerbee replied, pulling Longshot's hat up onto her head. Grinning, she said, "It's a Freedom Fighter's job. You look like you're still a bit shaken; you're welcome to stay with us for the night too, if you like."

"I - " Kuei cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, and Smellerbee could see his body tense up as he spotted - something, maybe, but even in this constantly-fading darkness, all that spanned out that way was the wood, nothing more. The Rough Rhinos really _had_ given up their chase. "I think that's a good idea. But before we go, I should - I offer my apologies."

"What?" Smellerbee blinked and watched as the robed man, Kuei, turned back to face her and stood up straight, tall, his scrawny form strong against the last vestiges of orange to the west, like brushstrokes of watercolor. And in this light, the way his ribs stuck out against the lower half of his torso, the way his cheekbones were accentuated - the man was emaciated, and Smellerbee's suspicion that he was a greenhorn found a sudden, conspicuous response. Kuei _was_ new to the life of a vagrant, but like Iroh, he came from a strong nobility. And even in this impoverished, humble lifestyle, that strength radiated from him like purity, an aura.

"I overheard you talking about Lake Laogai," Kuei explained, his expression somber, his eyes sparkling. "About you attempting to help the Avatar save his bison. How you lost a dear friend to the machinations of Long Feng…my advisor, a man intent on protecting Ba Sing Se at the sake of the freedom of its…of _my_ people."

Smellerbee felt cold all of a sudden, and drew her arms in close to herself to suppress the shudder threatening to run through her. She could _see_ where he was going with this, but…it couldn't be true, could it…? The pieces of the puzzle were all there, ready to be assembled, but the Freedom Fighter could only stare at them in paralyzed disdain. It all sounded so familiar, a conversation from years ago dredged up from the past with a soggy fish net tangled with seaweed.

Ironic, though, that the positions would be so reversed.

"Long Feng's crimes were committed in my ignorance." Kuei rested a hand on Bosco's head, fingers scratching coarse, brown fur. The bear _mrrf_ed in cozy approval. "And for that, his responsibilities are also mine. As the Earth King - the King of Ba Sing Se - I am burdened with the death of your friend. Since I doubt Long Feng will try to make right on that…I would like to do what I can to help you."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_16 days until Sozin's Comet_

Longshot - all of them, really - had been lucky. Lucky because they were all alive and together, lucky because he was helping pull things together, _especially_ lucky that Bato, a man from the Southern Water Tribe, hadn't been taken away with everybody else with leadership skill.

Alongside Pipsqueak, The Boulder, Huu, and Bato, Longshot had met the rest of the resistance forces: an eccentric inventor with frazzled black hair and three wooden fingers known only as the Mechanist, Due and Tho and other Swampbenders, both familiar and not, The Boulder's Earth Rumble buddy, Big Bad Hippo, and a wide variety of Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe warriors that had intended to crash the Fire Nation's party. And it turned out that, alongside the invasion team, a group of female Earth Kingdom warriors had been locked away here as well: the Kyoshi warriors. Familiar with Aang and his friends, they were quick to ally themselves with those Longshot had attempted to lead with some semblance of efficiency.

According to both groups, their full ranks remained here, in Pan Xing, with the exception of two of the most prominent members: Hakoda, the chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe, and Suki, the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors.

Longshot had loved learning that little tidbit, but the brazen irritation had subsided as soon as he'd been introduced to Bato. The man had said himself that he wasn't a leader, but it couldn't be more obvious he had the knack for the job, and it was one he took in stride; just the thought of having to be The Leader made Longshot fidget, because for the few days between the riot in the cafeteria and meeting the Water Tribesman, he'd tried on the boss pants. They had been enormous, and filling them had been a daunting goal; every day, every minute he had spent trying to organize a proper escape attempt left him feeling more and more appreciative of Smellerbee, Jet and (begrudgingly) Sneers' willingness and ability to follow through with it so naturally.

If it wasn't for Bato's efforts, the Freedom Fighter would have snapped and let everybody down. He didn't like being in that position, but _somebody_ had to be, because time was running out for them. Sozin's Comet was almost half a month away, and with the power it would grant Firebenders, the entire planet would suffer. The world needed Freedom Fighters, and it had a dedicated group locked up in this very prison. Bato had been quick to get behind the concept of a rallying point, too, which saved Longshot some effort. What shocked the archer, though, was the amount of non-Freedom Fighter/Kyoshi Warriors/Invasion force prisoners here who had thrown their weight behind Bato; while Longshot had no doubt that some of them were only in it to take a piece out of the Fire Nation's hide, several others had expressed genuine passion for their cause.

However - the most shocking had yet to come.

With sixteen days left on their calendar, Longshot sat cross-legged on the open court of the rec chamber. The floor, chilly, metallic, just like the walls, dug into his pants, the cold biting his thighs and butt. He pushed it out of his mind as much as he could. The sun, hesitant to peek out from its cover overhead, left the floor cool even in the middle of summer. While there was no ceiling to this place, climbing up and escaping in short matter would be impossible for all but the nimblest of people, with a guard patrol covering the perimeter of the wall.

He might have been able to do it himself, to escape and never look back, but that would mean leaving his friends and…well, his _charges_ behind, even though Longshot wasn't officially in command. Bato relied on the archer for tactical support, because _that_ was a roll nobody else had stepped up to assume. And that made Longshot responsible for them, right? Besides, an unarmed archer with no penchant for hand-to-hand combat didn't stand a chance against an insurmountable number of Firebending guards.

Pipsqueak, Spatula and Bato, dressed in the same rough, orange clothing, formed a square with the archer, watching on as he used a grease pen to mark out a rough plan on the floor. Mostly just…scribbles, really, but he needed to be able to visualize it, to put face to name (so to speak).

He turned his attention up to Bato, and then Pipsqueak, and furrowed his brow a little bit. Longshot had been unconscious when brought into the facility and Spatula hadn't seen the outside in over two years. (He wouldn't see it again in this lifetime, if they stayed here; according to him, the Fire Army held him responsible for the lives lost at the slave camp years ago, and in tandem with turning traitor, had landed the Firebender with a life sentence. Longshot couldn't help but feel pride at knowing that; having a sentence that grand thrust upon Spatula meant that he had done some serious damage, although the Firebender wasn't quite as ready to view it as such.) Aside from the fact that this place was, well, an _island_, how was it set up? Longshot realized that all his plans might or might not work, but it'd be pretty moot if the shore was too far away to swim to.

"Well," Pipsqueak mumbled (and mumbling, for him, was like listening to thunder rumble in the distance - quiet, perhaps, but not without strong presence). "The island _was_ a decent distance away from the shore, but…so long as we aren't injured, we might be able to make it across. If we get the Swampbenders to lead the way, then we're _really_ in the clear, because they can let us walk on the ocean floor, or form an ice bridge or something."

"That leads to another problem, though." Bato thumbed his chin and gave a thoughtful frown at the grease pen doodles. "The guards probably _expect_ that."

Yeah. They could…but they also could _not_, and...argh. Grabbing his head and scratching at his temples, Longshot leaned forward and scowled into his lap. This was just too confusing. There were way too many variables! He couldn't accurately gauge how the enemy would react. His comfort zone was hanging from trees and shooting things - that required instinct and sharp senses and that had been enough to get him by so far.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Pipsqueak said, laying a hand on Longshot's shoulder. His touch was gentle, even given his size; big, sausage-sized fingers and a hand the size of a slab of ham, and Pipsqueak had managed to bring it down with all the force and power of a lethargic flutterfly. "We're all in this together."

"It's alright for you to be concerned, but you're taking too much of the pressure." Bato fixed Longshot with a soft, ice-blue gaze. "I can take care of things."

"Yeah, seriously." Spatula hiked an eyebrow and traced idle circles on the floor with a single finger, smooth motions that would leave light rings in Longshot's eyes if he stared at it long enough. "But if it's worth anything, given the circumstances, I think you're doin' pretty okay."

Despite the stress and the pressure weighing down on him, Longshot felt a grin lighting across his face. Thanks, guys.

"Hey, Longshot!"

The archer glanced up - two of the Kyoshi Warriors approached from behind Pipsqueak and Spatula, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Hailing from the island of Kyoshi, named after the Avatar of the same name (who, according to the girls, came two generations before Aang), they walked with a steady gait and kept their chins high. Longshot wanted to get to know them better, but in their strength, they really weren't that…you know…_memorable_. There were times where the communication block actually came in handy.

Hiking a brow, Longshot scratched one temple and quirked his head to the side. What was it? Did they have something to report?

Pipsqueak turned to the pair of Kyoshi and relayed Longshot's question, his voice low and booming all at once. They nodded, and one of them said, "We got a new prisoner in our lunch circuit today. When we told her about you, she said she knew you and wanted to say hello."

It - wait. What? Longshot's pulse began to thunder behind his ears and he felt heat surging up into his face. Could it be - Smellerbee…? Did she get arrested too? His thoughts got sucked into a tumultuous hurricane. If - if she was arrested - then what did that mean for their plans? In here, they couldn't do anything. In here, they'd be -

- they'd be united. And somebody with _actual_ leadership skills would be here, could relieve the archer of his self-imposed duties, could actually lead them all to freedom. The physical abyss between them would finally be bridged, just like the spiritual one that had yawned wide open between Ba Sing Se and Foggy Swamp. He pushed himself up to his feet, and even though he could feel the metal on his soles, it felt like any second now they would leave the ground. It wouldn't matter that they were confined here. With Smellerbee at his side, he could pierce a falling cherry tree petal from two hundred yards away without destroying it, _blindfolded_.

Pipsqueak knew, and Spatula - he was getting good. They read him, they read the typhoon of thought and emotion that surged inside him, although he did his best to keep it under the surface. (Bato hadn't picked up as much, but when the two Freedom Fighters rose up to their feet alongside Longshot, he joined them as well.) The quartet turned to the Kyoshi Warriors and Pipsqueak asked, "Where is she? She here with you now?"

"Uh - yeah," One of the Kyoshi said, taken aback at Pipsqueak's size. His tone had held an underscore of stress, so - maybe she thought him intimidating for it. She twisted her upper body and called behind her, "Hey! Hey, I found him - Longshot the Hawkeye!"

From - from between them, Longshot caught a flash of shaggy, brown hair - they parted, and -

…of course.

He should've known better. Smellerbee wouldn't have let herself get caught so easily.

"Heya!" Ty Lee said, beaming and extending an open hand to the archer.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Western Air Temple_

_14 days until Sozin's Comet_

The first explosion was enough to shake The Duke out of his sleep. He jolted, reached out, scrambling - grabbed his, his pike, yes, there it was, still beside him, then his helmet, slammed it down on his head - saw, deep crimson, black, shaped like a peanut (ha ha ha, it was a giant peanut!), a war balloon. Not Zuko's, that was still parked and floating nearby, but another one, hurling grenades - giant grenades the size of Pipsqueak and Sneers combined! - of fire and metal and death at the Air Temple around them. They were being attacked! This wasn't how things were supposed to happen! The Fire Nation wasn't supposed to _know_ about the Western Air Temple, and The Duke's Freedom Fighters were supposed to go to Pan Xing Island where Hakoda had said the other members of the invasion force (_Pipsqueak_) were being held, and they could mount a proper attack all over again.

Scrambling up to his feet, The Duke looked around, trying to get his bearings, thrusting sleep away from him like a cup of rotten milk. The others were all awake, too (noticed Aang force the thick, metal shutters around their sleeping alcove shut, giving them a modicum of protection), and he saw Teo squirming over to his chair - there, that was his first priority, he closed the distance between them and slung one of Teo's arms over his shoulder. Chit Sang was beside them an instant later, and between the two of them, they got Teo in his chair.

"We need a way out!" Sokka called over the roaring engine of the airships, the grenades pounding the area around them, deep, thunderous rumbles, shaking the ground beneath The Duke's feet. Perhaps too suddenly The Duke became aware of the fact that their alcove was suspended on an inverted building - how attacking the right spots would send all of them plummeting to their deaths. That was a gut-tightening notion right there, and it took all his willpower to push it out of his mind.

"On it!" Toph dashed towards the back of the temple, away from the edge, and Haru was quick to follow; they leapt into bending stances and pushed forward, causing the wall to crumble inward, making a tunnel large enough to fit Appa. There, that would be their way out! The ground, the ceiling, the walls around him shook, as he stood at the mouth of the cavern; The Duke felt cold gusts of wind sucking at him, as if what little air remained inside this, this makeshift hovel knew its time was short and made to evacuate before the people and creatures residing in it could.

He felt light, dizzy, like that suction would pick him up and pull him along, a leaf on the forest's floor. Disoriented. He'd just been _asleep_ not even a minute ago! Barely had time to grab up his helmet and pike before the Fire Nation attacked. And now they were on the defensive, his new Freedom Fighters, and - and Zuko - Zuko charged, dashing out, leaping clear of the shutters as they crumbled and shattered, vanishing into a thick cloud of smoke, gone - !

The temple began to cave in on them, and, and, into the tunnel, go - but, wait! Toph wrenched the crumbling stones into a bubble around them, keeping them safe for now, but the Fire Nation hammered away at it with their ballistae, and, and thunderstrike after thunderstrike, the rocks trembled and threatened to give way and each time they did Toph stomped the ground and pushed right back and looking at her broke his heart because she was the best, she was _his_ best Freedom Fighter. She had the stuff. She had what it took. Jet would have been proud to have her.

(_This isn't Jet's Freedom Fighters, though, these were The Duke's!_)

And - Appa, the huge sky bison, roaring and pulling back on his reins, refusing to go into the tunnel. Bellowing, his voice truly fitting of a three-ton fluff monster, shaking the makeshift cavern as much as Azula's war balloons. The Duke felt his eyes grow wide as he shook his head, as Aang said that they - they couldn't go underground, that they'd have to split up -

That Toph would go one way and The Duke would have to go the other.

He _wanted_ to stay with Toph. She was strong and bullheaded and boyish, but she was also kind and funny and treated The Duke as an equal. Clashing traits, although none of them were negative in the Freedom Fighter's mind. And - time was short. The Duke saw Sokka and Katara run to their father, to Hakoda, embracing him; he wobbled, felt his legs move before he had really willed it, and he stood next to Toph, holding his helmet against his head. It had skewed, and he straightened it as best he could.

"Toph, I should go with you," He called over the crashing, muffled din coming from outside. "I - I can help!"

Toph leaned forward, bowed her head, planting one leg back as far as it could go and thrusting her arms forward again, grunting. The dome shield reinforced itself with more rock from the surrounding area, and Toph grunted, sweat running down her forehead. Grinning, she said, "I know you could. And I kinda figured you'd say something like that."

"Huh?"

"The Duke, I can read people like Smellerbee can read Longshot, if what you've told me is right," the Earthbender explained, her voice straining, yet still strong, still unmoving, like the very earth itself. "Only I can use my Earthbending to feel peoples' heart rates. So I notice that yours speeds up every time you talk to me. _Me_, not Katara, not Suki. I pick up how your voice cracks sometimes. How you'll occasionally talk too fast. To me, all the mystery of being 'crushed-on' is pretty flat." This did not prevent her cheeks - round and dirty and the color of cream - from turning a bright spread of pink. Her eyes narrowed and her grin became softer, more of a smile. "But that doesn't mean I don't like it."

_Wow_. The Duke's hand shifted from his helmet to Toph's bicep - a gentle touch, all he could muster, so winded, so sudden - and it was just _out there_, so liberating, it was like finally seeing Momma again and getting the opportunity to tell her that he was okay, all those years ago. Toph's muscles bulged beneath her sleeve, her skin, as she put more of her weight behind the dome.

"I want to follow through with…with _this_," Toph continued, not missing a beat, even though her voice strained as she struggled to keep their shelter from crumbling. "But now's not the time. I need to go with Aang and you have some Freedom Fighters to lead. Your plan was to go to Pan Xing Island, right? Find Pipsqueak and the others. Help us in any way you can. Aang may always be the one pulling the resistance effort from the top…but the Freedom Fighters - you and Pipsqueak and Longshot and Smellerbee - have been there this whole time, supporting us from below."

The Duke felt his eyes stinging, his throat drawing tight. "Toph…"

"A friend of mine would say something along the lines of how our paths are diverging for the time being, and how they'll cross together again soon." Toph closed her eyes. "We're outta time, The Duke. You do your part, I'll do mine, and when we've kicked the Fire Lord's butt, we'll see each other again."

"The Duke! Come on!" Teo called from the cavern's mouth, and - and The Duke paused for just a second before turning away from the Earthbender, running after the remains of his Freedom Fighters while Katara, Sokka, Suki, Aang and _Toph_ rode Appa out of the dome, towards the waiting war balloons, to whatever lay ahead on their journey -

- and darkness swallowed them as Haru closed the world shut behind them.

They would not be followed, and, for the time being, they were safe…but that didn't keep The Duke's stomach from knotting up, or ease the tingling in his throat. It seemed that all he'd done over the past three weeks was say goodbye to people he'd loved.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**Chapter 6: **_**Fall of the Blue Spirit**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission.

Also, as an aside for this chapter: the story Iroh relates to Smellerbee, _The Fall of the Blue Spirit_, is a tribute to SylvaCoer's story of the same name. The Blue Spirit/Yan-Sui, Pi li, Oh, Hái-dao and her characterization of The Painted Lady/Jian are the express copyright of SylvaCoer and were used with her permission. And please go read the story if you haven't already, because I guarantee that it's awesome! Copy and paste this URL to go to the first part: .com/art/FIC-Fall-of-the-Blue-Spirit-70710481

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Earth Kingdom territory, near Fire Nation colonies_

_19 days until Sozin's Comet_

"There is a tale recorded in Fire Nation lore," Iroh murmured, hunching over the Pai Sho mat unrolled near the campfire. Smellerbee saw the firelight flickering in the reflection of his eyes as he considered the tiles laid out before him, chin crooked between a thumb and forefinger. "It was archived from a time before the world had an Avatar. It reminds me much of our current standings, and the goals we all hope to accomplish."

"Yeah?" Smellerbee asked, leaning forward and grinning. Around them, the other Freedom Fighters milled about in the Fire Nation clothing they'd brought with then, readying for tomorrow's move out. The Earth King, Kuei, sifted around in their ranks, watching them maintain their armor and weapons, or readying jerky for the next day, or playing quiet games of chance, a fascinated smile on his face. For a king, he sure was unseasoned in...well, a _lot_ of things. Even the most inane part of the Freedom Fighters' evening intrigued him, his face alight with childlike curiosity. That attitude - it was unexpected, if not refreshing, in a man of nobility, compared to the few the swordswoman had come across in her life. She was tired of those in some kind of seat of respect acting like their shit didn't stink. "How d'you figure?"

Still considering the Pai Sho mat, Iroh held one hand out over the tiles and thrummed his fingers in a blank section of the board. His hand drifted slightly left - was he thinking of moving his Lotus tile? Unexpected, but definitely interesting. She felt her grin sharpen.

"The story records the chronicles of a demon, the Blue Spirit, who fell under the life-debt of a river goddess known commonly as the Painted Lady." Iroh furrowed his brow, his fingertips - callused and wise from many years of war - ghosting over the lotus tile for a moment - hesitating - and then sliding the piece across the parchment, two spaces diagonally and two the left. "The Blue Spirit, considering himself above humankind, had to defend those same people at the behest of the Painted Lady, who valued their lives as individual and beautiful things. Despite their difference of opinion in regards to the human race, the Blue Spirit agreed to help the humans and had to endure many a hardship to accomplish his goal."

"How did that story end?"

Iroh slouched a little bit. "I am ashamed to say I have not been given the opportunity to finish the story myself. It is one of the many problems with being a general for an army and a member of the nobility. All I can do is hope that I get the chance when this war is over."

Smellerbee quirked an eyebrow and let her hand drift out over the Pai Sho mat, swirling it gently in circles. A light rain drizzled down outside the mouth of the shallow cave the Freedom Fighters had holed up into, but - thank the Spirits - returning to Hong Ye had meant getting her hands on the healing salve she used for her wrists. With her remaining sleeve rolled up to her elbow and her gloves set to the side, her wrists glistened against the fire. For the first time since that chance encounter with Aang in Ba Sing Se, it rained outside and instead of that irritating, scathing burn, all she felt was a minty, cool sensation that radiated up and outward and soothed her chi.

"I hope you do too. It sounds like an interesting tale." Hmm…what tile, what tile…? Iroh's unusual application of the lotus made this match an interesting one. Not many people really used the piece – not even Sneers, who put up the best Pai Sho games of all the Freedom Fighters. Iroh had a plan for it, she was sure, but pinning down exactly what that plan _was_ proved a slippery task. It hovered over her mind like a playful firefly, eluding capture as it strummed its wings against the warm summer's air, always just out of reach and flitting between her fingers. Without knowing how Iroh planned to move, Smellerbee pressed a finger down on one of her cherry blossom tiles, sliding it forward three spaces and to the left one. An unusual move for an unusual move – setting up a defensive shield for herself just in case with a tile rarely used as such.

"When this is over, and when time permits, I would like to share it with you, if I could," Iroh said, and in the firelight his eyes glistened, a smile tugging at his mouth, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. Smellerbee once again found herself strangely enticed by the notion that he was proud of something she'd done, and – and, it felt _nice_. It felt sorta like when Jet was proud of her, except…warmer, happier. A bit more paternal.

It was hard to put into words.

"You could always tell me the story so far," the Freedom Fighter suggested, letting her eyes flit down to the mat with its multitude of tiles laid out across it before returning her attention to the Fire Nation general. "A while ago I never really believed in Spirits and Gods and Demons, but…"

"But?"

"Things change," she said, a bit coyly, a light grin playing across her face. "That's another story of itself."

"As a person whose views of the Spirit World have encountered a similar turnabout, I would like to hear this story of yours someday." Iroh considered the board again before shifting an eastern breeze tile around to flank his lotus. "But that would be a digression. I will tell you what I know of the story, _The Fall of the Blue Spirit_."

"Oh. I think I know how it ends now."

Iroh laughed and clapped a hand against his belly – a solid sound, not the hollow bounce that Pipsqueak made when _he_ did it. Had the general gotten in shape since the ferry to Ba Sing Se…?

"Perhaps it does end as the title says, but you will find literature, like life, contains many surprises." Iroh leaned backwards a bit and turned to grab an empty bowl at his side. Over the fire hung an iron pot, the remains of a nice meat stew boiling inside; feeding twenty-two people had taken many servings of the stuff, especially since Kettle did a fantastic job putting it together, so there was still plenty left and either Iroh or Smellerbee could help themselves to more if they got hungry during their game. Smellerbee only partially watched her Pai Sho partner ladle the boiling stew into his bowl, instead analyzing their game with keen eyes. Every move he made further drew his plans into obscurity, but the match was early yet. "It started long ago, when the Sun God Agni's offspring, the deceptive Pi Ii, thought himself smart enough to fool and destroy Agni's best warrior: the Blue Spirit, Yan-Sui…"

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Pan Xing Island_

_16 days until Sozin's Comet_

"Who're you?" Pipsqueak blurted, before he could really stop himself. This girl – short and chipper and round-faced – waited for Longshot to extend his hand back, to take it, to shake it – but she couldn't see how much she'd wrecked him, even though it wasn't her fault she wasn't Smellerbee. Because Longshot had got his hopes up, because Longshot was struggling (needlessly) by trying to act as Bato's second-in-command, because Longshot had fallen in love with the frazzle-headed tomboy and needed her to help bring him peace.

The girl turned her attention away from Longshot for a moment and grinned up at Pipsqueak, shifting her hand from the archer to the giant. "My name's Ty Lee. Nice to meetcha!"

"Yeah, same." Blushing slightly (_because no girl's ever just been so outright nice to him before, usually he, you know, __scared__ them with his size_), he took Ty Lee's much nimbler hand in his, engulfing it, shaking it gently. "You and Longshot here know each other?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, nodding and beaming. "We met in Omashu a little while ago."

"Omashu – what were you doing there?" He asked, partially to Ty Lee, partially to Longshot. The archer had his shoulders hunched and his head hung down a bit – couldn't really see it if you didn't know to look for it, but Pipsqueak did and in Longshot Speak, that meant he was keeping something to himself. "Me and The Duke saw it after it'd been conquered by the Fire Nation, and we didn't really get to go in."

"Oh! Well, I was going with some friends to visit their family," she explained, placing a finger on her chin and glancing up to the clear blue sky above. "See, Mai's father took over as governor of Omashu after it was captured, and she invited us to come with her so she wouldn't 'die of boredom.' We bumped into Longshot and Smellerbee and had a really fun time fighting them." She grinned and met Pipsqueak's gaze again. "You know, for an archer, he did pretty good at close range."

Pipsqueak opened his mouth and began to ask who this 'Mai' person was, but...wait - what? She was Fire Nation? Pipsqueak turned to Longshot and hiked an eyebrow, posing the question silently. The archer picked up on it and nodded, but - his brow furrowed, and he cast his gaze to the ground, like he was trying to remember something. The behemoth frowned, trying to puzzle out what the archer had going through his head, but the words and subtleties on his face moved too fast for him to keep up with. Smellerbee'd be able to piece it all together, but - well, Pipsqueak wasn't Smellerbee. None of 'em were.

Besides. The time for hating Fire Nation indiscriminately had passed - that had been something Jet had manipulated them into thinking. There were plenty of okay Fire Nation people in this prison, Spatula included; if this Ty Lee person intended to hurt any of 'em, she probably A/ would've, and B/ could've. The longer the war went on, the less Jet's perspective made sense. Not _all_ people of the Fire Nation agreed with the Fire Lord's agenda, and...well, Pipsqueak would at least like to hear Ty Lee's story before committing to anything.

"H-hey," Spatula said, placing a hand behind his head and fixing Ty Lee with a sheepish grin. "My name's Spatula."

Ty Lee blinked and turned to face the Firebender, frowning lightly - as if she just noticed him for the first time.

"You guys must be Freedom Fighters, too," Ty Lee concluded, her grin returning once again. Pipsqueak wondered if the girl was this cheery just by default, because she sure was in a good mood for someone in her position. "You all have the _weirdest_ names! I love it. So creative!"

"Thanks," Pipsqueak said, and - well, Ty Lee's good mood was infectious, really, 'cause he found himself grinning, too.

"I'm Bato," the Southern Water Tribesman said at last. "While I'm not _technically_ a Freedom Fighter, I guess I'm what you would call the leader around these parts." He chuckled and gave a helpless grin; Ty Lee responded by grinning back.

Spatula pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest. "I gotta tell you, though, you've got my curiosity up - how it exactly that a friend to the governing family of Omashu got thrown in jail?"

Ty Lee crooked her head to the side, and for once, the frown that overtook her face was more...somber, though her eyes still sparkled with childlike excitement that didn't seem to quench no matter how much she tried. Pipsqueak lowered himself back to the cold metal floor, resting his hands next to his thighs; Ty Lee, Spatula, Longshot, Bato and the two Kyoshi followed suit, forming a ring around the plans Longshot had scrawled on the iron in grease. "Well, there was a prison break at the Boiling Rock yesterday, and some of the Avatar's friends broke out a few inmates. Mai's boyfriend - my friend - Zuko, was with them."

Longshot's gaze sharpened and he brought his attention up from the ground, finally turning his focus on Ty Lee in full. Zuko - she was sure? He thought the Fire Prince (the _Fire Prince?_ Longshot knew _him_, too?) still fought as part of the Fire Nation. But - Ty Lee had no way of understanding the archer, and so Pipsqueak was quick to jump in for him, acting as a voice for his soft-spoken buddy.

"Wasn't Zuko still...y'know...indecisive?" Pipsqueak asked, hunching forward and holding out a hand. As Longshot continued his silent chain of questions, Pipsqueak did his best to keep up, relaying them as well as he could. "He helped Longshot and Smellerbee in Omashu, apparently - and he wasn't too sure which side he was on at the time. Leaves a lot unanswered, if you ask us."

"I don't know what Zuko's reasons were, but he _did_ join the Avatar." Ty Lee slumped over a bit and furrowed her brow, her gaze sliding over the grease doodles before them. Her orange, ragged prison uniform hung loose around her body - unflattering to the pretty face and shining hair, and Pipsqueak wondered how she looked when she could afford to keep her appearance up to snuff.

"Mai knows. If she were here, we could ask her, but we were separated. Mai brought Azula - the Fire Princess - and I to Boiling Rock when we found out Zuko was there, and during the jailbreak, Azula tried to stop Zuko..." She brought her gaze up and met Longshot's, then Pipsqueak's. "Mai sabotaged us, though. And when Azula and I managed to get back to her, she told Azula that she loved Zuko more than she feared her, and – and they were gonna _fight_." She drew a deep breath, and Pipsqueak tried his best to keep up with the story - Ty Lee's storytelling technique was a little...confusing. "Azula took it too personally, and she would have hurt Mai really badly – I couldn't let it happen. I blocked her chi before she could Firebend, and then the Boiling Rock's guards managed to surround us. Mai got to stay there, while I was shuttled off here."

So…it wasn't just Zuko who managed to get his act together, Longshot surmised. Pipsqueak nodded and said, "Yeah, sounds like it."

"Sounds like what?" Ty Lee blinked again, and youthful curiosity overcame her. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh – yeah, you probably don't know." Pipsqueak hooked a thumb at Longshot and grinned. "Longshot doesn't speak when he can help it, so the rest of us have kinda learned to…to understand him anyway. It's hard to explain. If you examine him close enough you can see his expressions, and you can sorta hear what he's trying to say."

Come on, knock it off. Longshot blew a puff of air from his nose and hunched his shoulders a little bit – an irritated gesture that reminded the behemoth too much of Smellerbee, one that made him grin. Stop talking about him like he wasn't right there, please.

"Oh, I kinda see it now!" Ty Lee leaned forward, so close to Longshot that the archer had to pull back a little bit in surprise, eyes going wide, a ghostly rose flush highlighting his cheeks. "Yeah – it's pretty obvious now that you mention it. Go ahead – say something to me!"

Er. Longshot quirked an eyebrow. Please don't get so close to him. He kind of liked his space, and close proximity to strangers made him anxious.

Ty Lee blinked – furrowed her brow – tilted her head to the side – and after a few seconds, comprehension dawned on the girl and she sat back, beaming all over again. "I get it! I understand now! I mean, it takes a little work and I have trouble with bigger words, but I get it!" She threw herself forward suddenly and drew Longshot into a big hug, her jubilation spilling over like a kettle left over the fire for too long. (And 'jubilation' was such a The Duke word, he'd've been proud of Pipsqueak for thinking about it.) Longshot, stunned, sat there with his arms stuck out like a bird ready to take off but too scared to commit.

All Pipsqueak could do was laugh at that point. He clapped his belly and heaved a raucous guffaw up to the sky, losing himself to the bubbling sensation in his chest and throat. Sneaking in just beneath his booming voice, he could hear Spatula and Bato laughing with him, and while he felt for Longshot, the morale boost couldn't've come at a better time.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

They – they were laughing at him, he realized, as Ty Lee smothered him with affectionate warmth, but that was kinda okay. Longshot felt his face burning as the Fire Nation girl's hair – coming loose from its braid, giving it the shaggy look the archer had associated with Smellerbee's unruly mane – brushed against his cheek, her arms cinched tightly around his shoulders. His flush had _nothing_ to do with embarrassment, because only Smellerbee had ever hugged him before really, and he'd only ever _wanted_ to be hugged by her so the solidarity never bugged him…

Benign as the sudden physical contact was, Ty Lee was still an attractive girl who currently had her boobs mooshed against his chest, and as gentlemanly as he tried to be...boobs were still boobs. Denying that would be like looking at some of Skillet's spicy buffalo chicken and saying it was inedible. (Of the few vices he allowed himself, gluttony over that buffalo chicken was probably the second or third he was most guilty of.) Her warmth spread through his body, the rough fabric of their uniforms rubbing together. It wasn't too difficult to breathe, she wasn't squeezing him that much, but he figured that a girl in such good shape could probably hug him tight enough to force his eyeballs to pop out of his head. It'd be enough to make Pipsqueak envious.

_Awkwaaaard_.

As Longshot had been learning in his time away from Smellerbee, inspiration seemed to strike in these particularly spontaneous moments, for as soon as he realized Ty Lee was lunging for him, he stubbed his toe on an epiphany.

His and Bato's plans – ramshackle and haphazard and most likely not in working order – had so far involved Longshot ascending the walls and trying to take out the guards by himself, without any long-range weapons, at least in an attempt to escape, while everybody else brawled down in the courtyard. But that'd be just him, because he hadn't considered anyone else here agile enough to accomplish the feat. As a person who'd grown up in the trees, like Spatula had said before the incident with the supposedly-would-be Yuu Yan, that sort of thing came naturally at this point. But he hadn't taken into account the Kyoshi Warriors, who he admitted to not knowing all that much about – who might be able to ascend the wall with him.

And then there was this strange, new, bubbly girl clinging to him. A girl whom Longshot had not only seen in action but had fought in person: an acrobat, limber and speedy and capable of dancing around on a careening mail trolley as if it stood perfectly still. A girl who held mastery over a unique form of hand-to-hand combat that disabled and paralyzed enemies.

This hug, benign and awkward and full of breasts, made the last piece of their desperate puzzle fall into place, and he drew a sharp, cold breath.

Wrapping his fingers around Ty Lee's biceps, Longshot eased her off from him. She still beamed, ecstatic over picking up on his nonverbal language so quickly – but now that he realized what they had to do to get out of this place, they needed all the time they could scrape together. Recreation only lasted two hours, and they'd already been out here for most of it, so it was a number quickly diminishing, and he tried to convey his urgency to her. She _needed_ to understand, and now.

Releasing the Fire Nation girl, Longshot narrowed his eyes and pointed at her hand. Pipsqueak and Spatula's laughter died down when they realized how sharp the archer's intent had become, and Ty Lee's exuberance morphed into a curious frown once more.

He needed her to teach the Kyoshi Warriors how to block chi. They didn't have time – Sozin's Comet was almost half a month away, and the Fire Nation was ready to destroy their precious planet. If she could just teach them her unique fighting style – then they'd be able to incapacitate the guards on the courtroom's walls and overpower their way to an escape, and Longshot would no longer be the sole crux to this plan.

Ty Lee shook her head. "I – I'm sorry. I didn't understand that very well. What – "

Longshot rose up to his feet and extended a hand to her, and – despite the thundering in his heart, the way his brain buzzed with excitement, the way he felt pressure clamping down over him as the clock ran down, he grinned at the girl.

It was a roguish, renegade, crooked grin. He could feel it – supercharged, electrified, alive. Jet's grin, as his old leader surged forward from the afterlife and supported Longshot from below.

Ty Lee's eyes widened as she clasped his wrist and he clasped hers, pulling her up to a standing position. Glancing over to Spatula, he beckoned for the Firebender to come closer; he stood up as well, and when he was within arm's reach, Longshot held his hands up to him. Stand still for a second – he just need to borrow the Firebender for something.

"For some reason, that doesn't make me feel good about whatever it is you have planned," the cook murmured, gaze flickering quickly to Pipsqueak. The giant shrugged, watching with keen, silent interest from his spot on the floor.

Longshot held up a finger – getting Ty Lee's attention, just as the horn signaling the end of rec time sounded in the distance. He made a few swift jabbing motions aimed at Spatula's arm – hiked his eyebrows, pointed at her, then to the two Kyoshi. They needed to know _how_.

And – and – _yes_, her eyes went wide, and he could see the comprehension flittering behind them like a hummingbird. "I get it! You – you need me to teach the others how to block chi."

He nodded, beamed, and felt the sway of the other inmates begrudgingly filing back towards their cells, shuffling, crowding all around him. Their time was limited, indeed.

"Okay, I – I'll show you what I can." Ty Lee fixed the archer with a serious frown and nodded. "There won't be enough time to learn everything. Heck, I'm still figuring out a lot of it and I've been at it for almost ten years. But it should be enough."

"That's brilliant!" Bato said, snapping his fingers. "If the Kyoshi can learn chi-blocking, then we'll have an added edge on the guards here."

Ty Lee nodded, and as if to demonstrate, she jabbed Spatula in the opposite arm Longshot had pantomimed against, a motion so swift and precise that her own arm looked like an orange blur. Spatula grunted and stumbled backwards, flinching – his arm hanging limp by his side. When he realized Ty Lee wasn't actually attacking him, he glanced down at the arm before moaning, "Was that really necessary?"

"Er, sorry." She fixed him with a nervous grin and rubbed the back of her head. "I guess I got a little carried away with myself." Turning back to Longshot, she said, "Listen – starting tomorrow, we'll meet back here and I'll start teaching the Kyoshi Warriors what I know."

"And if we're going to work towards our specialties, we should probably start hoarding some utensils for Longshot to use," Bato murmured. "And we'd better start conserving our water rations for Huu and the other Swampbenders."

"While that's going down, me and Spatch can gather the Kyoshi for you guys," Pipsqueak said, using a rag to wipe up the plans Longshot had left in grease on the floor. "We got your back, Bato. Freedom Fighters gotta watch out for each other."

"Says the man who sat back as I lost use of my flipping arm," Spatula grumbled.

Longshot fixed him with a grin and clapped his shoulder. Don't worry – he'll get feeling back by sundown.

"Thanks. Again, not very reassuring."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Earth Kingdom territory, near Fire Nation colonies_

_19 days until Sozin's Comet_

"…and it was so that the Lady Priestess, Jian, taught Yan-Sui to walk upon the water as though it were his native element." Iroh thumbed a brow chakra tile before nudging it forward three spaces, and Smellerbee felt herself grinning tightly. The Fire Nation general was many things and held many surprises, but among them were his storytelling abilities and his unique strategies in Pai Sho.

She had never once been in or seen such an intense match. Every move she made, Iroh seemed to have anticipated three turns prior and managed to deflect her; every defense she erected, he gradually wore down and wormed through the cracks.

But his victory had not yet been guaranteed. Smellerbee still had a few tricks to roll out that the general wouldn't be expecting.

Hopefully.

That didn't change the fact that this battle exhilarated her as much as any of her swordplays. Even though the chance for getting hurt or killed was a non-factor didn't change the pulsating, giddy sensation in her chest, her throat. Just wait for the right time to strike – that was all there was to it, just like a sword dance, graceful and patient and lethal when the time to strike presented itself.

"So, a demon of Fire came to utilize his opposing element, then?" Smellerbee leaned back and grinned, feigning a nonchalant aura. She drew one knee up and threw an arm over it, meeting Iroh's gaze from beneath her headband. "That's pretty big, right there. Yan-Sui sounds like one tough mother."

"And it is much like he relied on the element of his enemies that you and I are relying upon each other," Iroh explained, his face creasing as a smile crossed his jaw. The fire under which the stew simmered beside them had dwindled considerably as the hours passed, their game not near finished. She would need to sleep soon, but…well, she dared not interrupt this game. Something about it felt important enough to sacrifice a full night's rest for. All around her, Freedom Fighters slumbered in their roll-out mats, Kuei and Bosco nestled comfortably among them, resting in a crook between Pickle and Chameleon. The bear snored, great, mighty rumbles that caused big puffs of dirt to flush up into the air. Of the lot, only three others remained awake – sentries, two posted at the mouth of the shallow cave and one at the crest above it, facing the other way. "Much like you will have to rely on others of the Fire Nation to help achieve your goals."

"It's not just us, though, is it?" Picking up on Iroh's playful tone of voice, Smellerbee narrowed her eyes and smirked. Ignoring the invitation to pursue the subject would be passing up a prime opportunity of some sort – something Iroh was hoping she'd pick up on herself. What, exactly, she couldn't yet tell, but the flow of their conversation would yield it eventually. "You're gonna be getting some international help too."

"Yes," he said, consenting to her deduction with a sage nod. "I have…friends, we shall say. It's your turn."

She hadn't forgotten, but she would not rise to _this_ bait. She'd been observing the board the entire time, trying to gauge her next move…and, scrolling along the board out of the periphery of her vision, she at last found her opening.

Letting her arm fall from her knee, she leaned forward and slid a chi line tile between and past the brow chakra tile and a yang tile, the motion deft and cool and _perfect_, the chink in his armor.

Iroh's eyes gleamed, and Smellerbee found herself once more awash in the sensation of fatherly pride from the Firebender.

She decided she did not mind it.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Fire Nation Territory_

_13 days until Sozin's Comet_

Ugh.

Okay – maybe a lavish life in New Ozai or the Fire Nation capital wasn't so bad compared to this whole…living in the wild thing. Red tape and boredom – at least she _knew_ those. But out here...no meals prepared for you, no sanitary way to go to the bathroom, no sanitary way to _bathe_ (try as she might, all the rivers she'd chanced across had had dirt on either shore bank)...not to mention the brambles that got caught in her robes, or the low-hanging tree branches that tugged at her hair. And the _bugs_. Spirits, don't even get her started on the bugs. Mai never thought she'd ever miss the lifestyle of a pampered showcase-daughter, but three days in the wilderness had taught her otherwise. Even when traveling with Azula, there had usually been people to tend to her: kitchen staff to make decent food, tailors that would sew up tears in her clothes, servants that would go out to shop for her whenever she needed something...

All amnesties she'd taken for granted, she guessed. So when she chanced across a small Fire Nation military outpost in the buttcrack of nowhere, she realized one of two things: first, it had soldiers, so it _must_ have had a kitchen and she was so _hungry_; second, there was a pen situated at the rear of the building. Even from the forested hill surrounding the outpost, which had been at least fifty yards away, she could spot mongoose dragons sectioned off into individual stalls. Mai had ridden mongoose dragons before, while chasing down the Avatar with Azula and Ty Lee; they were fast, they didn't jostle a lot when running, and they could even run across the water - crazy stuff. Stealing one of those would make the trip to Pan Xing Bay that much faster, and from there, all she'd need to do was...what? Bust into the prison, then bust out with Ty Lee? Easier said than done...but, one problem at a time.

So, Mai had slunk down the slope leading to the outpost, which could almost have passed for a garrison if not for the fact that it was the only building here. It only had one floor, and the walls were the same dingy, rusty color of almost every other Fire Nation building in existence of all time ever. It was shaped like a pair of fat bricks stacked on top of each other, with a long, narrow corridor running between each one...the kitchen would be in one of those buildings, but Mai hadn't really had time to perform recon work. A handful of tents had been situated outside the building, arranged in a rough semi-circle, and an outhouse loomed at the very edge of them. She didn't know much in regards to military protocol, but she _did_ know that kitchens were kept indoors, if it could be helped.

Despite her unfamiliarity with the outpost, it was supposed to have been a simple, in-and-out deal, but – she could be stealthy, moving silently was just how she did things, but she'd gotten clumsy. They found her, she ran - was still running as an alarm wailed all around, echoing and rebounding off the walls of the corridor, the same rusted iron color as the outer walls. (Ugh, so boring.) She could hear soldiers thundering behind her, and taking them out wouldn't have normally been a problem - except that she didn't have any _weapons_. Her uncle had treated her exceptionally well at the Boiling Rock in her short interment, but it was under Azula's orders that the knifethrower be disarmed. She hadn't gotten even a single kunai or knife or flechette back and _that_ was what made this a situational implosion of suck and disaster. (She could have put one of any of those weapons through its paces, believe her_._)

The only benefit? At least she'd gotten some food. She hadn't had the chance to bite into anything, but the small sack slung over one shoulder bulging with all sorts of Fire Nation rations already satiated her hunger, even just a little bit.

With her robes torn and tattered, her hair frazzled from days of not being properly cared for, she kept her eyes narrow as she skidded around a corner, diving into a new hallway as a flash of fire erupted from behind her. Dammit, she should've expected at least a few of the soldiers guarding this ranch to be Firebenders - it'd just mean putting more effort into finding the exit.

Her muscles ached, her robes whipped against the air, and the wind scratched at her face, her arms. Where the hell was the way out? This place may be sizeable for being so remote, but it wasn't labyrinthine. If she could just get outside, she'd be able to find the pen that held the mongoose dragons - and then she'd be in the clear, these soldiers wouldn't be able to catch up to her (hopefully). The corridor ahead of her glowed and flickered, and Mai whirled around in time for one of the soldiers to round the corner and thrust a fireball at her; the knifethrower pressed her back into the wall, heat searing past her with a brilliant flash of orange, leaving a blue afterimage in her vision.

Spinning on a heel, Mai began hurdling down the corridor again, another round of fire welling up behind her. They were really bearing down - and, an alcove on the left - she wouldn't be able to _make_ it in time, she felt the heat licking the nape of her neck, they'd hit her and she'd burn alive -

- a hand, mocha brown, erupted from the alcove, strong fingers wrapping around her biceps and tugging her in, and she stumbled, fell into darkness and something slammed behind her -

A light flickered to life, and Mai struggled up to her feet, her knee and side throbbing from where she'd landed on the floor - and she leapt backwards, up, somebody had yanked her in here, she wasn't alone -

"Easy!" Said the aged man with mocha skin, face lined from war, eyes a sharp, frost-blue color. He had a squared jaw covered by a patch of goat tuft, and wore...a dull orange prison uniform...one of the escapees from the Boiling Rock! "We won't hurt you. We owe you that much."

"..." Mai drew a deep breath - hot, lungs burning, throat raw - and set her mouth into a straight line, nodding at him. She'd seen Zuko and the Water Tribe boy fighting Azula and Ty Lee for the safety of this man...and Zuko might not have possessed the best judgment at times, but now wasn't the time to be picky about last-minute rescues. "Thank you," she said at last, squaring her shoulders.

"Look, as touching as this is, I don't know how long I can hold this door shut." Behind the Water Tribe man, a teen with tanned skin and chocolate-colored hair done up into a ponytail stood with his feet planted apart and his arms folded in, crooked at the elbows so that his palms pushed upward at the air. He wore green and dull yellow clothes, a goatee on his face - probably an Earthbender, the strain of lifting his invisible load apparent by the way his mouth worked into a frown and his eyes squinched shut. "I didn't get the ground beneath the building hard enough to lodge it in place. The soldiers are going to get through."

As if on cue, a low, rumbling thunder crashed against the door; the knifethrower could see the ground swelling up beneath it, and that would be enough to hold it in place for now, but for people who could superheat and melt metal, that wouldn't mean much. The door had not started to glow yet, but it would if the soldiers on the opposite end continued to pelt it with fireballs. Mai cast her gaze around, gauging the room with narrowed eyes. Aside from the Water Tribe man and the Earthbender, she spotted a bald, hulk of a man, wearing the same prison uniform as her rescuer and looming far above the others in the room, and a little kid wearing a vest and a spiked helmet just a few sizes too large for his head. The bald one held a ball of fire in his hand - the source of light that had bathed the room in its warm glow. A Firebender.

"You're a patchwork group," Mai murmured, probing the room further. What she originally thought was an alcove had turned out to be a storage closet of some kind; a few crates laid here and there, but most of them had been scattered by a massive rock spire erupting through the metal floor. The spire left a gaping hole beneath it, stretching out beneath the floor, tunneling away from the illumination cast by the Firebender. If anything of any import had been stored here, Mai couldn't tell. "Let me guess - you're with the Avatar?"

"Were," the kid explained, thumping the butt end of a red pike too large for his size against the floor. "The Fire Princess attacked us and we needed to split up."

"Hmph. Azula." Mai narrowed her eyes. In her survey of the room, something glimmering caught her attention in the periphery of her vision; she wandered over to one of the crates, which had been split open by the Earthbender's invading spire, and - oh no way, this would be too convenient...but...yes! Shrunken, the entire crate, freshly oiled, the blades casting off a sheen as she leaned over them. "Hold that door a little while longer if you can. I need to rearm myself."

Ahh - she picked up three of the shrikes, flaring out in a rich, stylized blossom. Kind of reminded her of a lotus flower...white and blooming and floating on lily pads in one of the Fire Palace's ponds. Playing with Ty Lee, Azula and by extension Zuko. Light, lethal - _perfect_. Their shining metal beauty was just an additional piece of flair...but it was a _nice_ flair. She slipped the blades up one sleeve and hastened to fill all her hidden pockets and pouches and harnesses.

From the corner of her eye she saw the door begin to simmer with a low orange light; she took that as her cue, and in synch with that the young kid said, "Okay, time to go. Haru, can you navigate to the pen out back?"

Mai hiked an eyebrow, turning to the Water tribesman. "You guys broke in here to steal a mongoose dragon too?"

"Well, that was the general plan," he responded, a light grin playing across his face. "Unfortunately our friend here doesn't have much experience with blind Earthbending. No offense."

"Well, hey, Toph could only teach me so much around training with the Avatar," Haru growled. His arms began to shake and his mouth pulled into a tight scowl. "I should – be able to get us there, since we're pretty – close to the outside now – everybody jump in the hole and I'll follow behind you."

The two men and the boy in Haru's company nodded; Mai, almost to her surprise, found herself doing the same. Maybe it was because of their similar short-term goal, or because Zuko had risked his neck to save the Water tribesman and the Firebender. Either way, it was a way out and Mai had every intention of taking it. Grabbing the sack of food she'd dropped as she fell into the room, she wandered over to the hole in the floor, the others alongside her.

"Hey," The boy said, glancing up at her and grinning. "Nice to meetcha. I'm The Duke."

Mai's eyes flicked down to him for a moment. Ugh – the one thing she hated more than a life in the wilderness. _Kids_. Couldn't've been any older than eight, and that was the ripe age for being an obnoxious burden. Why three able warriors brought this snot-nose with them was absolutely beyond her; didn't they think that he could get in the way, be a liability?

But – sometimes it's better not to make waves.

"Mai," she replied, nodding at him.

"Good to have you on board, Mai," The Duke said, jumping down into the hole. Thanks to the Firebender's light, Mai could see that the tunnel dropped down only a few feet – twelve at its deepest, maybe – and it sloped a little, just enough for The Duke to skitter into the darkness yawning beyond without really needing to move.

The Water Tribe man jumped down after him, landing heavier, crouching and rolling and vanishing out of sight. Mai glanced over to the Firebender and met his gaze – big and tough and intimidating was he, yeah, but he looked…complacent about something, and he jerked his head to the hole with a grin on his face.

"After you. I'm Chit-Sang, by the way."

"Hmph. Thanks."

She found herself thanking too many people in such a short span of time.

Jumping, clearing over the torn-blossom of metal that used to be the floor, Mai landed in a crouch and pushed away into the darkness, leaving plenty of room for Chit-Sang and Haru to drop down behind her. The impact rattled up her knees, her spine, but it didn't bother her; she was on her way out, in any case. Her boots crunched against soft, rugged sediment. Earth.

She'd just have to follow these people out of the ranch and into the woods surrounding it; then they'd be able to part ways and she'd make tracks for Pan Xing Bay.

Chit-Sang jumped in, his flame orb illuminating the tunnel a bit better; it curved and twisted and slunk like a slithering snake, eventually curving out of sight. The walls had a scalloped pattern to them – dirt and soil pushed out of the way by Haru so they could stage their invasion from below.

And at last, something burst from above – Haru finally leapt inside and threw his arms up over his head as a blast of fire seared across the hole leading into the room. The stone spire slammed shut over the hole and with quick, dexterous motions, reinforced it with loose soil solidified into hard stone.

"You guys like your escapes narrow, huh?" Mai asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Close as they can get – that's the Freedom Fighter way." The Duke beamed, and Mai struggled against the urge to scoff. She instead crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the dirt wall making up the tunnel.

"Great. So, you're gonna navigate us to where the mongoose dragons are being kept, right?"

"This is the fourth wrong turn we've made, actually," Chit-Sang said, and Mai could have pierced the terseness in his voice, it was so tangible. "It's a miracle we hadn't been found until now."

"Mmm." Mai narrowed her eyes at Haru. "Are you just using your Earthbending to try to find them, or do any of you have hunting skills?"

"…You know, that's not a bad idea, Hakoda." Haru turned to the Water Tribe man and frowned. "Why not try working your tracking magic?"

"Underground, it's not going to be as effective," Hakoda said, furrowing his brow and meeting Haru's gaze with an icy maturity that had a razor's edge to it. Mai _liked_ it. Haru was being more of a brat than The Duke, and the scathing criticism coming his way would be well-earned. "But if you insist on putting me on the pedestal…"

"I think we should let our idea man decide," Chit-Sang murmured. He squared his shoulders and turned to The Duke. "Well? You're our tactician, so what's our plan?"

Wait – _what?_

That – the _snot-nose_ was coming up for ideas in this little ragtag band of renegades…? Oh, she'd have to see this in action.

The Duke crooked his head to the side and glanced up, at the ceiling of their tunnel and in the direction of the metal ranch looming overhead. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Chit-Sang. I think, since Haru's preliminary plan to 'wing it' got us nowhere, it's time to put our tracking skills to the test. Hakoda – you're really the only one who can do that for us. I know it won't be much, but what can you do down here?"

Holy crap. He – he actually wasn't that bad. He didn't sound like any other eight-year-old she'd had to put up with, and – while not the perfect leader yet – Mai would have to be blind to ignore his potential.

"I can mostly tell you where we've been." Hakoda shook his head and sighed, rubbing his sinuses. "We made that rough map before coming here, so I could give you a better estimate of where we should pop up…but that's about it."

"Then we'll go with that."

Hakoda turned his attention to Mai again. "You're welcome to come along with us if you'd like. We're on our way to liberate our friends at Pan Xing Island - the invasion force from the Day of Black Sun. Fire Lord Ozai still needs to be taken down, and we're running out of time."

…well, if that wasn't a kick to the shins…

Okay. Okay, think this through, Mai, before you answer. You're both heading to the same place and you both have similar goals. If what she'd heard had any truth to it, the people the Avatar had amassed had been a _massive_ invasion force…and while Mai didn't really want to take down the Fire Lord so much as repay her debt to Ty Lee and try to do what was right by her, coming with whatever followed. But with Zuko's father out of power...

Yeah. Any doubt she'd had in her mind vanished. They needed to help stop the Fire Lord and the Fire Nation and…and Azula. Mai had betrayed her nation for the _sake _of her nation. She'd stood her ground against Azula to protect Zuko.

She nodded and said, "I'm in."

**SCENE DIVIDE**

They broke the surface again minutes later, a massive spray of rocks and dirt hurled outward at an angle - like shrapnel. This time, instead of the dim, lightless metal walls and ceiling of the inside, brilliant daylight shone in; they'd made it outside! Mai leapt out before the others even got the opportunity, and found herself in an enclosed, open-aired pen with fences looming several feet high on all sides. Even better than outside, they'd found the stables with the mongoose dragons - all they'd need to do from here was steal their new rides.

The grass prickled Mai's legs through her robes and the air smelled sweet around her – hills swelled up just beyond the pen, a thicket of trees sprouting up from their crests. Stables lined the wall of the building, which now lurked behind her, and – and two sets of five guards closed in on opposite sides to her, some carrying swords and clubs, others unarmed and with fists glowing orange. Had they been anticipating this? There hadn't been any soldiers out here when Mai had done her limited scouting, so - maybe they were protecting their most valuable resources.

They'd be easy pickings now that she had weapons, in any case.

She flicked her sleeves, shrikes sliding into place between the crooks of her fingers; at the same time, Haru rose himself and the others up out of the hole on a platform of solid rock, the ground rumbling and groaning in protest. And – even though she'd always been able to keep a cool head in battle, things just seemed to blur together at that point; she hurled the shrikes at the nearest of the guards, hitting him in the throat, downing him, while Chit-Sang dispersed a wave of fire from her other side - hadn't even noticed she was being attacked, so sloppy, the hunger was affecting her more than she'd realized! Crouching down, her arms spread out behind her, Mai ran, charging the group she'd attacked.

A blast of fire came her way, but with the extra space provided by the outdoors, she leapt over it and hurled two more shrikes; one caught the offending guard in the forearm and the other hit him in the thigh, making him stumble and fall to his knees, yowling like a wounded cat. He should stop being so melodramatic - and in the heat of the fight, Mai might have actually said that, but she wasn't really sure and there were other things to focus on. From below – a flash of brown and red – The Duke, matching her pace somehow with his stubby legs. He reached the guards and swung his pike around, hitting one behind the knees, making him collapse forward; he jammed the butt of the pike into the back of the soldier's helmet before swinging it around and slicing into the hamstrings of another.

Huh. The kid could fight, too, though clumsily and graceless - inexperienced. Still, looked like he was full of surprises.

Mai landed and threw another shuriken into the neck of the last guard just as Hakoda bellowed, "_THIS WAY!_" Mai turned, seeing the Water Tribe warrior riding a saddled mongoose lizard - the creature was twice as long as Hakoda was tall, four others trailing behind it. All five beasts had triangle-shaped heads and long, tapered bodies, armor plating spiking up behind their necks and at the base of their tails. The fact that they had four slender legs and their bellies almost dragged across the ground detracted from their sheer speed, and that was what Mai needed more than anything else right now.

As the mongoose dragons rolled past them, Chit-Sang and Haru vaulted onto the saddles of two of the beasts; there wasn't any more time to waste, and though Mai knew that The Duke could haul ass when needed, she couldn't tell how well he could jump. Better to make sure this goes right; she scooped the boy up by the back of the vest met Hakoda and the others partway, dropping The Duke down into one of the empty saddles. She vaulted over the spines of the last one, grabbing the reins up as she landed.

"Let's move!" With a flick of the reins and a yell, Hakoda's mongoose dragon took off towards the hills. Mai followed suit, and the remaining men rode behind them – up the grassy slope, into the thicket of trees, away, safe, the wind scraping her face, blowing back her hair. Her heart hammered in her chest, her throat raw, breath hot - that had been..._exciting_, really.

On to Pan Xing Bay, she guessed.

**SCENE DIVIDE**

_Earth Kingdom territory, near Fire Nation colonies_

_19 days until Sozin's Comet_

"Having successfully bound the Earth Spirit, Oh, to his desires, with the misdeeds of his comrade laid to bare, and with the Marks of his kin upon Jian's face, Yan-Sui had no other choice but to accept the challenges laid out before him by Hái-dao." Iroh's brow furrowed and Smellerbee saw his gaze flickering across the Pai Sho mat one last time, gauging it – trying to find _something_, but she couldn't tell _what_. The tide had turned in her favor, yes, but – the game was almost over and he could still pull a victory out of thin air if he desired. He was very good at casting off that feeling – of a higher wisdom that resided in a plane of thought Smellerbee could only dream of obtaining.

"And what came next?" She asked, her attention turning to the mat as well. Leaning forward, her legs crossed beneath her, she draped her arms over her knees and strummed the ground with her fingertips, blades of grass prickling her. The rain had ceased, although the salve on her wrists still left her feeling cooled. The fire had been reduced to cinders, but an oil lantern hanging nearby cast off flickering illumination bright enough for them to still play their game.

"I'm afraid I do not know," Iroh admitted, a wry grin splitting his face. "That is the point at which I had to set the scrolls down. I shall never forget that day."

"Why's that?" Iroh's turn had not yet come to pass, but he was thinking so heavily on the matter than Smellerbee could feel the tension – almost permeable, thick and smothering. She was on the verge of hoping that he would just make up his mind for it to be over and done with.

"That was the day my nephew stepped into the Fire Lord's War Room and disgraced one of his generals." Iroh drew a breath deep enough to make his shoulders sag, and he shook his head. "The dishonor led to an Agni Kai, of which Zuko lost for refusing to fight his father."

"…" Smellerbee felt her eyebrows plucking up before she cast her gaze to the ground. "That's how he got the scar."

"Precisely." Iroh frowned, his focus still on the Pai Sho mat, and yet – even more distant, lost in time. "He was exiled much too soon after the fact. His father did not even give him the proper time to heal; not a week later we were scouring the Air Temples for the Avatar, and in my concern for his well-being I did not bother to read further into the tale of Yan-Sui or take the scrolls with me. In that regard, I have no regrets for my actions…but I hope, someday, to return to the story."

"No wonder why he's so messed up," Smellerbee mumbled. "No offense, or anything. He was just…confused, I guess, when we found him in Omashu."

"I fear he has lost his path," Iroh admitted, his brow creasing. He let his eyelids slide shut and bowed his head. She didn't think the General was crying, but…he couldn't hide the warble in his voice, the small, almost insignificant shake that made the Dragon of the West seem so vulnerable. It surprised the Freedom Fighter, but she had seen important, almost impenetrable figureheads break down in the past. After all, Jet had done his fair share of crying, although he never let anyone see. Always trying to hide it. Doing the leaderly thing by showing strength. "I only hope he can find it again."

Inhaling, Iroh opened his eyes again and settled once more on the mat. "But…that is another tale for another time. With the end of the story comes the end of our palaver, I'm afraid, and so we should end this game that you get a decent night's sleep for tomorrow."

Smellerbee quirked her head to the side, her shaggy hair flopping down over one eye. There was that term again…a foreign word to her ears, slick and wriggly and warm. It blurred when she tried to spell it in her mind, and saying it proved to be a chore in its own, like it didn't fit right on her tongue.

Frowning, she said, "That's the second time in my life I've ever heard the word pal...palva...'palaver.'"

"It is not a common one," Iroh yielded, spreading his arms wide before him. He let a smile pull on his face, earnest and wise and perplexing all at once. "But it is precisely what we have had. While those around us have indeed fallen into slumber, your guards have not changed shifts; time has not truly passed and only you or I shall know any better." With that, he thumbed his lotus tile and slid it one space – _one space_ – to the left, and Smellerbee felt the trap close around her.

Her eyes went wide as she soaked in the new layout on the board – Iroh had won. Completely and utterly. He'd moved the lotus tile a handful of times during the match, but – it was supposed to be useless, and yet he'd maneuvered it into the perfect position, a lance, a piercing blow that destroyed Smellerbee's remaining defenses and rendered her neutral.

"I've never seen a move like that before," she admitted, her voice low and throat tight. Bringing her gaze up to Iroh's hazel eyes, she hiked her brow and said, "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

Iroh's smile did not fade. "I am just an old man who seeks to right the wrongs his nation has done." He stood up and brushed the dirt off his robes; Smellerbee followed suit, ignoring the soil (_she'd have to dispose of this disguise anyway, with the ruined sleeve on her shirt and all_) and – and –

She thought back, to Omashu, to Longshot and Zuko after their initial meeting – and it was the only appropriate thing to do, wasn't it? This sort of stuff wasn't normally her bag – too formal, too stiff, but…

Forming a fist with one hand, Smellerbee planted the palm of the opposite against it, fingers straight up, and bowed to Iroh. "I'm honored to have faced you, General Iroh."

Iroh's gaze twinkled in the lantern's light. He returned the bow, only with his fingers curled over his fist, for the Earth Kingdom – and, when both straightened up, he said, "You played a fantastic game, Smellerbee. Your strategies are incredible and you show much potential to evolve into something greater than you are, as a Pai Sho player, a warrior and a leader. The world will always need Freedom Fighters…and it is with that knowledge in mind that I give you this."

Iroh reached into one sleeve and withdrew from it something small, circular, like a coin; he took Smellerbee's hand in his own and slipped the thing into her palm, releasing her. She held it up to the lantern's light...a Lotus tile, not the chipped, rough one from the Pai Sho set the Freedom Fighters had brought with them, but one with a glossy coat that shimmered in the flickering firelight, a blooming flower emblazoned on it. The wood was smooth and…almost official. It came from a much higher-grade set than any the Freedom Fighters had gotten their hands on – and fancier than Smellerbee had seen personally. She stared at it – turned it over in her hand, gold paint framing and dipping into the flower, glittering – before glancing up to Iroh with an eyebrow raised. What was he trying to say? Knowing Iroh for the short time she had gotten acquainted with him, there had to have been some deeper meaning. "What…?"

"You will find out when the appropriate moment comes," Iroh said, his gaze turning solemn. "While time is not currently our ally, you will eventually come to understand."

Smellerbee's eyes widened. "Wait – I don't get it. What are you talking about?"

"You will in time," he repeated, smiling again. "When you have saved your friends, return to Ba Sing Se's inner walls. There, we shall do our part to end this war together." Her breath caught in her throat – it still didn't really make much sense, but – the Pai Sho tile in her hand felt…felt like she'd ascended, somehow. Reached a height Jet had never even strove for, because she had followed her own path rather than in his footsteps. As if – as if she'd _succeeded_, somehow, even though she had a war to win. "Farewell, Smellerbee, leader of the Freedom Fighters."

And…and the old man from the ferry, the Dragon of the West, General Iroh turned and walked away from the Freedom Fighters' camp, vanishing into the darkness that lurked beyond the mouth of the cave.

Smellerbee looked back down at the round tile in the palm of her hand and murmured, "Go back to Ba Sing Se, huh…?"

_**Where Words Fail**_

**Book Seven: A Game of Pai Sho**

**End**


End file.
